Flowers in the Office
by Vanessa S. Quest
Summary: Since when do flowers at the office end in such a mess? Cowrite between HalfBrokenMoon & Vanessa S. Quest. Thank you Ali for beta'ing! Please R & R individual chapters! First part in the Paths of Light Series- keep your eyes out for more soon!
1. Chapter 1 by Vanessa S Quest

Title: Flowers At The Office  
Collaboration-Fic by Half_Broken_Moon & Vanessa S. Quest

**Part 1:** (by Vanessa S. Quest)

The sunlight is warm on Reid's skin as he leans against the window to watch the buildings along the side of the road move past. His left hand stretches from the ill-defined imaginary border of 'passenger's side' to the equally crudely designed 'driver's side' to squeeze Hotch's thigh just above his knee.

Hotch's right hand momentarily drops from the steering wheel to land on Reid's hand, squeezing it before pulling it from his thigh to his lips. He kisses Reid's knuckles gently.

"Car-pooling really is a genius idea; we should do that every weekend." He smiles into the flesh of Reid's hand before placing Reid's hand back down on his knee and then returning his hand to the wheel. He slows the car for a stop light.

Reid smiles back, blushing slightly. "This weekend was great. I wouldn't mind repeating that at all next time we have a few days off." He stretches a bit, turning to face Hotch instead of the scenery. The handful of stolen glances and touches were going to have to be masked by the next light, so Reid took the opportunity to lean over and kiss Hotch as the light detains them. "Have a good morning at work, Aaron."

Hotch snags Reid by the back of his hair, pulling him in closer for a little deeper of a kiss, "You too, Spencer." They broke at the sound of a horn behind them reminding them that the light had turned green two seconds ago, and they continue the drive no longer in lover-mode. Spencer is now Reid, nervously fixing his hair and hem of his shirt, adjusting his bag and gearing up for his second cup of coffee of the day, which he'd get just after they park thanks to a coffee-stand outside the FBI HQ parking lot. Sure, it meant he had to cross the street to get to it, and then again to get back to the office, but the reward of REALLY good coffee is a price he's willing to pay first thing in the morning and at lunch, five days a week pending on case-load.

Meanwhile, Hotch builds up his mental shields to become the fierce team leader and highly respected SSAIC Aaron Hotchner, his stoic features now more firmly in place. The car ride no longer focusing on minute touches, but now talks of new cases.

Their work-load had increased thanks to losing their media liaison, all personal dramas aside, the morning work-load had increased to cases they should or should not take, on top of the requests for interviews, interviews, individual requests for case-reviews, cases they had to travel to, reports to file afterwards, depositions… this all had added two hours to each member's daily responsibilities. No one on the team seemed willing to replace J.J. yet though… so that time just got accrued as over-time and Hotch didn't say a word to counter it.

They just weren't ready to replace that part of their family; he let his even breath slow a bit more, contemplating the head-ache of the first forty minutes before they'd brief each other on any potential cases.

Hotch and Reid park on the lowest level of the parking garage, a benefit of Hotch's title as team-leader includes having an amazing spot dedicated to his car. While Reid immediately hops out of the car in pursuit of coffee, Hotch takes that extra second to make sure his tie is as perfect as he had left it this morning and then enters the office-building. The elevator ride is quick and he proceeds to his office to start his day.

He doesn't immediately notice the flush of color in the bullpen, probably because he's still operating on only one cup of coffee. After he enters his office to look at the cases piled on his desk, he realizes he needs that coffee, too. He decides to add to his new Monday routine to get that second cup of coffee with Reid, too. Today, though, he'll make use of the break room's pot.

He walks past the row of desks in time to see Reid enter from the elevator with a large coffee, the man scans the office; finding his desk and boss both there, he starts to smile and blush.

Hotch finds it strange, the young agent is better at covering his emotions than that… until he notices what he swears he should have immediately spotted. There, on Reid's desk, is a bouquet made up of dozens of red and white roses.

Reid bows his head sheepishly, heading to his desk and slinging off his bag, he whispers to Hotch so only the other man could hear, "You didn't have to… but that's very sweet of you…"

"I didn't." Hotch said, equally quiet, in a voice more authoritative, well at least more 'Hotch' like, he asks in normal tone, "So, who are they from?"

Reid looks at him oddly then at the bouquet, "I, uh, have no idea." He felt around at the edges of the bouquet until he pulls out a card. Flipping it open, it takes him under half a second to read the inscription to himself. "It doesn't say- it's a quote."

"What's the quote…?"

"'To love is to admire with the heart; to admire is to love with the mind.' Theophile Gautier."

Morgan approaches from the elevator during the process of discovering flowers, upon Reid reading the quote, his attention is growing as is the crowd around Reid's desk. "Hey, pretty boy, you have a secret admirer?"

Reid moves the flowers to the most distant corner of his desk. "Apparently," sipping his coffee, he starts his work-day.

XXX

By ten, the group comes together to discuss potential cases, deciding to follow up on one from Rossi's pile- a consult requiring urgent attention about an arsonist burning down businesses in the middle of the night in a large town in Michigan.

The round-table discussion sets up a preliminary profile that Rossi then forwarded to the local LEOs, and the others went back to the pile to discern what case the team should take while simultaneously doing the rest of their job functions. Reid seems to be having the easiest time with integrating this, what with his ability to read 20,000 words a minute.

At lunch, Reid is about to get onto the elevator to leave when a delivery man exits onto his floor with a gourmand's lunch. "Is there a Dr. Reid here? I have his lunch."

"Uh, I'm Dr. Reid." Reid's eyes went wide as he is shocked to find the recipient to the feast is him, since he certainly didn't order anything.

He debates whether Morgan is guilty of the prank, and how much this is going to cost him, until the delivery man hands it to him saying, "From your admirer. Please enjoy, sir."

The young man hands over the large bag and then steps back onto the elevator. He returns to his desk before he could think better of it.

Reid inspects a bag labeled with the brand _2941 Restaurant_, he'd heard of the place, just like he'd heard that driving a Porsche is supposed to be nice. It wasn't a life experience he thought he'd ever really get let alone in some casual situation of eating there for _take-out_ _lunch_. The meal itself isn't even one of the more fairly-priced options from the prix-fixe menu, well… the dessert is. Inside the bag had been a loaf of French bread, chestnut ravioli appetizer, beef tartare for a main course, an organic coffee truffle for dessert, and Casatica di bufala cheese with wild-flower honey to go along with his bread. He blinks at it several times hoping to will away the awkward feeling that from looking at the menu inside the bag he probably would have chosen those very things if he decided he didn't need half a week's pay-check.

He didn't know what to do with the lunch, it looks so good, but to actually eat it, wouldn't that be an insult to his relationship- secret relationship- with his boss? He leans his head on his desk. Maybe it's okay if he shares it? He looks up from his desk hopeful to see movement in Hotch's office. Either way, he should have a chat with his lover- er, boss, yes he should chat with his boss about what this all could mean, and not his lover about how concerned he is. He'd never be so unprofessional as to bring personal issues up at work, riiiight.

Taking the bag up with him, he knocks on Hotch's door which is cracked slightly.

"Come in."

"Hey, uh, Hotch… could I _talk_ to you for a minute…" He gestures to the bag, Hotch counters with a gesture to the door, suggesting Reid close it.

"Sure, have a seat. What's on your mind?"

"My admirer apparently struck again, this time with an expensive lunch."

"And you're asking me if it's okay to eat a lunch someone else bought for you…?"

"Yes and no, I came to address that this is awkward for me. I don't know who this is and I don't know how to get in touch with them to turn them down. It's flattering but, I'm spoken for, besides… why would anyone spend that much money on me… I mean… honestly, I'm baffled by the behavior. I don't have many examples of a person trying to woo me." He looks at his lover for a moment trying to express that he could think of ONE exemption he'd concede.

Hotch smiles. "If your admirer isn't trying to contact you, for now, I suggest letting it slide… for now." He repeats, chiding himself for being so obvious.

"I also came to ask if you'd like some. There's no way I can eat this by myself and enjoy it. It would be too flavored with guilt."

"Sure, I'm at a good stopping point." With that, Hotch moves some files from his desk to clear an area for the both of them to sit and eat at. It's a good meal- fitting for the gourmet price tag, but the conversation occurring behind it had been what made the lunch flow by most pleasantly to Reid.

Yes, they both talk shop, about which cases they'd look into and which ones they should probably decline, but that isn't all that passes between the two. Non-verbal communications in glances about the stresses of the day, about their affections for each other, that is what calms Reid's frayed nerves and puts him back into work-mode fully recharged.

The rest of the day, Reid manages to get back into the groove even if he does send the bouquet several sets of unnerved looks, how is he supposed to react to this? Is the normal reaction to just be flattered but not interested? The secrecy of who the crush is, on top of it, eats at him. When he steals five minutes for coffee, he decides to snag Morgan and Prentiss; the three begin to profile the flowers, the lunch, and the quote… trying to gain insights to the admirer.

Morgan and Prentiss both silently amused at the level of which Reid is freaking out over it, Prentiss offers the theory of a sugar-mama, which instantly makes Reid feel like maybe Rossi is punking him, that is what it's called to get pranked nowadays, right?

He even mentions this to Morgan, but Morgan denies the assessment, "Man, even Rossi wouldn't spend that much on a prank. Besides, if he did, do you think he would've only got you one portion? Seriously, he probably would have gotten you enough to share with at least one other person." What Morgan left out is that he knew the other person would be Hotch, after all… he knew better than to say the obvious. Everyone on the team knew about Reid and Hotch, they just didn't call them on it, they respected their urge to keep it private, especially with the risks of reassignment if the two were caught.

If it really had been Rossi, though, the senior agent would've been smart enough to goad them to a full lunch and force them to enjoy their break together like normal couples breaking FBI taboos did, like he and Prentiss, for example.

Reid seems to accept the assessment that Rossi wouldn't prank him, for whatever reason, probably because he'd have chosen a five-star Italian place instead… and then goes back to profiling the meaning of red and white roses. In flower language, white roses are the flowers of unrequited love, red of passion. The day finally ends for Reid, Hotch suggesting he go ahead and catch the train back to his apartment instead of wait around for two or three hours for Hotch to catch up, so he does.

XXX

Tuesday morning went similarly to Monday, except today it isn't flowers. It's gourmet chocolates and coffee. Coffee that Reid immediately dumps into his waste-basket despite it smelling delicious. He bows his head onto his desk. If this isn't a prank, this is someone who has real feelings for him… but he's taken.

Reid doesn't need this stress. He'd rather fill his day with sociopaths trying to kill people and stopping them, not whether his admirer's a rich old lady who needs a hobby, or some creep trying to buy him, or whatever else this could be… because the only thing this could be is unrequited and answered with rejection.

Lunch goes by similarly, this time it _is_ Italian though, and for half the day he shoots Hotch's office pleading looks, and Rossi's office daggers. He mentions to Hotch the possibility that Rossi is pranking him, which Hotch said that if that's the case take the free lunch and he'd talk to him later about it.

What Reid doesn't know is that even though he knows the whole team has suspicions, Rossi actually has confirmations, thanks to him cornering Hotch at one point. Neither have spoken further of it, and Hotch has never had reason to tell Reid that the team knew, after all, they both already knew that… this is the formality that they have to do for the rest of the brass of the FBI, not the team.

Again, thanks to J.J.'s absence, Hotch stays late to prepare the next wave of files for Wednesday, and sends Reid home via train, at least today he hasn't also given him a ride in… even though he'd have liked to, it would've meant getting Reid up an extra hour early, since he came in at 6:30 to get through some of his pile faster.

XXX

Wednesday, much like Monday and Tuesday met Reid with another gift. This time it's small but expensive breakfast pastries, and a rare translation of Dante's Divine Comedy, it adds to Reid's working profile that the unsub …err… admirer is potentially a religious fanatic. Add to this that the last two quote calling cards left in the morning had been biblical quotes about love.

Yesterday, to accompany his un-drank coffee had been, "Many waters can not quench love, neither can floods drown it." Song of Solomon 8:7. Today's inspirational quote is, "Come let us take our fill of love until the morning: let us solace ourselves with loves." Proverbs 7:18. Reid immediately crumpled it and tosses it into the trash, along with the pastries, AND Dante's Divine Comedy. Dante would forgive him, he'd get that he's going through his own personal hell…

…And as Winston Churchill once said, "When going through hell, keep going." Reid even requests the tech-goddess of omniscience to pull up footage to spot who's laying these gifts out, regrettably it's a mail-clerk Reid knew to deliver other letters. Not the unsub, then again, it's probably for the best that the unsub couldn't actually get into the FBI HQ to deliver such things. That meant they didn't have the clearance, which is definitely a plus.

When his lunch gets here, gourmet sushi, he sends it back with the delivery-man. He isn't going to play this game again.

Doing that actually gets him a card rushed by a bicycle-courier to his desk from the admirer, this time in their hand-writing, sending regards hoping that Reid is not ill, asking forgiveness for the meal not being to his liking, and personally raising the creepy-crawly feeling and the hairs on the back of Reid's neck. But he compartmentalizes and copes. Instead of discarding the card left in some bubbly hand-writing of some clerk behind the counter at a flower-shop, or cashier from a pastry-shop, this is the discerning handwriting of the admirer. So he does one of the things Reid does best, he starts with psycholinguistics.

Through the actual reading of the document, Reid confirms the firm Protestant upbringing, male gender thanks to missing intensifiers, and directness to the thoughts. From what is written, he gathers the man is approximately in his early thirties, but as is the case in all profiles, age is the hardest to gauge. Racially, thanks to word-order, Reid would wager he is Caucasian and native to the US, there just isn't enough written to determine where, though. It appears the man is well-educated, however.

Reid jots down his preliminary profile, embarrassed to no end that he actually HAS a preliminary profile of an admirer. He couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling about this, and he's getting to the point of realizing this isn't because he's in a relationship. This somehow feels threatening, even if the others don't see it as such. He knows Hotch would agree.

XXX

Thursday, there are no presents on his desk when he arrives. That has made Reid visibly relax, this week has so far been the week from hell, J.J.'s absence being only a part of the issues… and honestly, her departure is more than enough of an upset.

At lunch, Reid is sucker-punched with a singing-messenger delivering flowers to replace the slightly wilted roses, this bouquet an arrangement of gardenias, gloxinia, and spider-flowers.

Reid's stomach lurches. Gardenias meant secret love, gloxinias spoke of love at first sight, but spider-flower? THAT'S a request for elopement. Reid swallows heavily. He is too shocked at the singing and the sudden thrust of flowers into his arms to realize the delivery man has walked away after singing Beautiful by Christina Aguilera, the growing commotion having even gotten Hotch to step out of his office.

Said flowers went on special express delivery from Reid to the trash bin. He forgot about lunch, instead, silently reworking the profile to add in psychopathic tendencies …obviously this man is a sadist and a narcissist, after all… who the hell ELSE uses singing flower delivery-men?

XXX

Friday, Reid finds another note, a sweater, and some fresh fruit, coffee and whipped fresh cream to go with it. He silently wishes for a case to take him to the other side of the country just to NOT have to deal with this right now, but the cards are against him, the case they opted to work on yesterday is a consult in DC.

A consult that ends in half a day, returning the members to the office, Hotch driving Reid to discuss the situation at work. They also discuss the prospects of the weekend carpool back home.

The highlight of Reid's day, besides apparently missing yet another delivery man's attempt to deliver a gourmet lunch, is Hotch telling him he'll keep Reid in his sight all weekend and that nary a delivery man nor flower would cross his path without Hotch's approval, and he'd approve none of it, since he's man enough to deliver any gifts he gets Reid _to_ Reid himself.

The two pack up for the day, closing out of the office at a respectable 6PM to head home for the weekend.

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2 by HalfBrokenMoon

XXX

**Part 2:** (by Half_Broken_Moon)

The ride home was the quietest Reid ever remembered, and having an eidetic memory allowed him to categorize the noise level. 10 being the loudest and 0 being the lowest. Right now, if possible, it was a negative 3. He understands Hotch's silence, the unite chief is worried about his own problems with Strauss demanding they find a new liaison right away. Reid can picture him saying, something on the lines of, "If you weren't so hasty trying to please the higher ups because of your own need to hide your own insecurities, we'd still have one."

No, he's sure it didn't happen. It probably will come Thursday.

Reid, on the other hand, tried not to think about it. No, he's not allowed to, Hotch ordered him as they left the office. "Let me worry about it," he says, "You deserve a break."

A break, the genius scoffs at the word. _In this line of work? I don't think so._ The word alone has him thinking if he even knew how it was to have a break.

Hotch parks his car as close as he could to his lover's apartment. The parking was always a nightmare no matter what time of day it was but Hotch did it anyway and succeeded. He did that by waiting for a man who vacated that spot just in time and probably needed new prescription glasses. Both men step outside for a bit, still quiet and not quite sure what to say. Reid didn't know how long they stood there, leaning on Aaron's car, just sharing each other's physical company. Just seeing his figure stand close to his was all he cared about.

Reid speaks first, "Aaron…" he felt his teeth tugging at his bottom lip, Hotch snaps his head up and looks at his boyfriend, unsure if he should have said something first. "You parked halfway through the red line."

Aaron's dark eyes shot up and shifted down to the curb, his black leather office shoes standing on the edge of where the line ended. How could he have missed that? Reid slides his skinny arm around his lover's waist and let his head rest on the unit chief's shoulder for a good heavenly three minutes. Reid can tell he's not worried about the stupid painted red curb but the thoughts that caused him to do such an un-Hotch thing lingered. Was the workload adding extra stress to his boss/lover/frozen god?

"Is there are handicap spot?" Hotch joked even though he didn't have to. The young doctor thinks he's making fun of him for distracting themselves from their own mixed up worlds.

"Watch it," Reid flicks him on his ear, the sensitive one. "Thank you for breaking the law just so you can escort me home."

"Anytime," Hotch brushes his hand on the waviest strand of Reid's now short hair. His hairdresser neighbor went too far this time but how can he complain if it's free. Hotch did readily admit that he loved tugging on a short chestnut curled lock and seeing it retract back in place. When it was longer he never was curious to play with it. Something to think about later in the day now that Reid thinks of it.

Reid holds him closer; tucking his head underneath Hotch's chin, and tightens his grip. Hotch follows suit. For a moment, a brief moment, both were only thinking selfishly. Their selfish desires guided them to a long and dizzying kiss. Both were selfish enough not to care about the old woman who walked past with her small, yapping dog, and a face that could freeze the Sahara.

"Hn," Reid hums as they let go. The worriless weekend of fun went off to a great start but the kiss was delaying a more important need they should get at as soon as possible.

Reid stomps upstairs to his apartment while Hotch waits for the young man inside his car, which was now parked legally and exactly 18 inches. Again, he's making fun of his lover. Reid felt like he has to wipe that smug cheeky grin off his face tonight once Jack is asleep.

XXX

"What are you watching?" Reid walks past the cold linoleum floor of kitchen with his pale bare feet. The Hotchner family headquarters would be calm and peaceful tonight if it wasn't for the flat screen television. Hotch was sprawled across the entire cream colored couch, not leaving any room for Reid to sit on. The doctor, stands in front of the television, not that it would do any good because he cover only one third of the screen. Aaron waves him over and then pats his thigh as he raises his brow. His signature _come hither and sit on my lap_ look.

Reid folds his arms at him, his lover's smile grows wider as he shifts upright and pats his thigh again. "Didn't you say that my boney butt felt like daggers digging into your lap? Or did my eidetic brain make that up?" he asks him.

He places his throw pillow on his lap and reaches for Reid's long delicate hand, "With a minor adjustment I'm sure we could give it another shot."

The blushing genius felt his face overwhelmingly heat up but he can still make his way to the couch and onto that pillow. Long skinny arms drape over wide-set shoulders and let his head fall on the right side of Aaron's face. Reid wonders how strange this would look to strangers or everyone else for that matter. A grown man sitting on an older man's lap like an awkward romantic comedy poster.

"Does your neck still hurt?" Aaron's fingers awkwardly brush on Spencer's craned neck.

"Yes," he pauses, "How did you know?"

"You've been looking behind your back all day. What's wrong?"

Reid's eyes flitted around the room and didn't know if he should tell him about his worries but hiding things from Aaron only made it worse. He's a profiler after all and not to mention, an ex-prosecutor. "I feel that… I'm sure you've had this feeling like you're being watched. It's silly."

Immediately Aaron frowns because he knows now why his lover has been on edge on their free and relaxing day. He turns Reid's face towards his face and kisses his soft flushing lips lightly. Reid felt better.

"If this… whoever it is keeps bothering you then we can easily find him and put a restraining order on him."

Reid nods stiffly to his plan but somehow in the back of his large brain, something is nagging him ferociously. It's not himself he's worried about, it's Aaron and his history with being stalked. That damn Foyet is hopefully paying for what he did in whatever hell is reserved for people as sick as he was. Right now Aaron doesn't need the added stress of a problem Reid can deal with himself. He needs to focus on the work J.J. reluctantly left behind.

"What are we doing on Sunday?" large brown eyes perk up and he slides down off of Aaron's lap and next to his side. "Would Jack enjoy the reptile exhibit at the zoo? They're letting kids touch some of the snakes, carefully supervised of course."

Hotch grimaces and gives his boyfriend an incredulous look in his eyes. "Snakes?"

"The handlers are well qualified."

"I'm not worried about Jack," Hotch grabs his cold beer from the coffee table and takes a quick drink from it. "If Jack does anything I'm holding you financially responsible."

XXX

Monday morning their "carpool" couldn't be more different than Friday's ride. The couple yammered on about Jack wanting a pet snake and how the genius felt that wasn't unreasonable. Aaron however, did. Reid tried to explain to him that a small garden snake would actually be better than having a regular hamster and that they're required to be fed every couple of weeks. Still, he said no snakes. Jack and Reid were a little bummed that day.

Again, the same routine, Hotch drops Reid off and parks, taking his daily route to work to try and be less obvious. To whom he had no idea. The walk home made the doctor feel optimistic because it was one of those beautiful days seen once a year. The rain from the previous night cleared out the air nicely and he felt like he could actually breathe.

Reid finally gets to his welcoming desk early as always. Usually it would be Hotch, J.J., and Reid who would see each other on the floor and the trio would enjoy the brief time of solace before Morgan, Prentiss, and Garcia would waltz in like a parade. Now having it a little bit empty stung at the two agents from inside. Reid still misses J.J., more and more.

"What's this?" Reid says out loud to himself. There is a small box idly sitting on the desk, wrapped up with a bright red bow. He sighs and speed-walks all the way from the glass doors to the desk and swipe the box into the trash can. Today he should just go to Garcia and ask for her help to find out more about this person. Too bad there wasn't much of a lead.

Lunch time rolled around and the office was buzzing with busy agents and office workers. Reid was happy to see that no expensive sandwiches or some kind of singing delivery boy have decided to drop by and ruin his day. Really happy, and he was planning to go to his favorite café that's only a few minutes walk and get that special blend to get his spirits up. That box from earlier was a little small so Reid conclude it must be jewelry. It doesn't matter; he's not going to open it.

Reid sits on his favorite table near the black and white photos of France and the farm lands of another European country. As far as anybody knew it was still France. The special blend of coffee lingered in Reid's taste buds, as did the taste of his boyfriend. Oops, sometimes things just pop inside the young, and now blushing, doctor's head.

"Excuse me," A beautiful woman with wavy blonde hair approaches him quite in a bubbly manner. She places a long white box on his table, winks, then steps away with her pencil thin red heals that anyone would imagine to be killing her feet. Reid opens the box hesitantly, expecting some freshly cut of red and white roses. He wished it was. Down before him lay one yellow carnation and what he assumes a single white iris that is withered and dry. A little piece of paper that resembled the size and width of a fortune cookie was taped on top of the two flowers, keeping them in place from swimming around inside the box.

"The first step in a person's salvation is knowledge of their sin - Seneca."

This, is not good.

Quickly, Reid gathers his things and left in a huff to the building and then luckily ran into Garcia. She saw the concern written on his face and asked, "What's wrong sugar?"

"I-it's just," Reid takes a deep breath, "Nothing, I think I ate something and now I'm paying for it."

_I don't have enough information yet, I don't have enough so she can help me, I have to be calm_, those are the thoughts that ran inside Reid's head. Garcia didn't buy his act because damn it, how can she not.

"There are cookies in my office. Do you want to join me and gobble them all up?" She asks sweetly hiding the intent of getting her favorite FBI gun wielding genius there to talk.

"I don't think cookies will help my stomach Garcia," he pretends to feign sickness and heightened the urgency in his tired voice. It's the same trick he used on J.J. right before she left. "Sorry."

Garcia squeezes his thin shoulder and smiles while she mentally gives him her message of 'When you're ready.'

It was getting late and everyone in the bullpen was getting ready leave with much gusto. Prentiss comes up to where Reid was standing, getting his files ready to turn in. She quirks her head suddenly and asks, "What's that smell?" She wrinkles her nose. "Oh well, who cares. I'm ready to get Monday over with and sleep."

"Me too," He smiles at her. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Ditto," Prentiss waves at Reid while she struggles to put on her coat.

"Good," Reid rubs his tired puffy eyes and just wants to be done with today just as bad as Prentiss did. More so even. He flops down on his chair and rests his forehead on his hand for a minute until he wrinkles his nose, man something does smell. _What is it? _Reid sniffs around a little and finds that it was coming to the small black garbage can that the genius commandeered from the corner of the break room and placed it next to his desk, just to throw away those 'gifts'. He inches closer and the smell was getting stronger.

"Gross," He swaps away at the crumpled papers Morgan threw inside the can as he played basketball with them. When he missed it was Reid and Prentiss's job to gather them from the floor and throw them away. At the bottom of the can brown eyes catch a splash of red. The tiny little box with the red bow from this morning was still there. Of course it was, nobody cleaned out the trash can yet.

He carefully as he possibly could, with one steady hand unties the loose bow and lifts the small lid from the box. There, it was, the source of that smell. Reid covers my mouth to try and keep myself from feeling sick and to keep any disgusted sounds from coming out of his voice. "God…" Reid unwillingly picks up the trash can and takes it to throw it away in the larger bins. He could see the little hairless tail sticking out from beneath the white sheets of paper. Did it have a note inside? No, no it didn't.

The next day Reid was on edge and everyone felt it. They walked up to him, asking if anything was wrong but the doctor acted and would say anything to convince them that everything was just fine when it is evident that everything was not. Hotch decided it was best to keep his boyfriend hidden away from the world in his office without looking suspicious due to the circumstances.

"What exactly caused this?" Hotch looked straight into his eyes. Reid could tell he wanted to walk over and comfort him but the blinds were open.

Reid looks down at the carpet, feeling the blood rush heavily to the front of his already pounding brain. "Hotch I-"

Morgan flung open the door and took turns meeting their eyes to see if they were busy with something. His brow lowered and he took out a bag of chocolates wrapped up in clear cellophane and red hearts printed on it. Morgan wore gloves of course. "Hotch, Anderson was found in the hallway acting erratically and then passed out cold. He was sent to the hospital just now."

Big brown eyes shot up and zeroed in at the bag of chocolates. Hotch noticed Reid's reaction but stood still and calm. "What happened exactly?"

"Someone told me that Anderson snuck some of these chocolates from Reid's desk thinking Reid wouldn't notice because he was with you the whole time. Hotch, we're testing a few samples at forensics. We'll get the results soon."

Hotch grabs the bag from Morgan's arm with no warning and no gloves then gives Morgan a good hard stare. "Tell me when the results come in."

"S-sure," Morgan was baffled at his boss's anger. He sure couldn't go and blame the man. "I'll go and see if Anderson is alright. Reid, man, stay right here."

Reid nods slowly and he could feel his throat tighten, making it difficult to breath. Morgan leaves the two alone to stand in the office quietly. This went on for only a couple of minutes until Hotch slammed the bag on the floor and crushed them with his feet. Reid sat there, wide eyed and astonished at the display of anger, and truthfully a little afraid. Afraid that Aaron was going to yell at him for not coming forward earlier about yesterday and well, afraid of what it all could mean.

His fears of having his lover yell at him for being an idiot were unfounded. Hotch closed the blinds quickly then gave Reid a tight hug. At the corner of Reid's eye, he spotted a note spill over from the bag, crumpled up smudged with the chocolates Aaron just crushed. He signals to Hotch about the note with his eyes. Hotch gets up to pick it up, straightens the note, and reads the words out loud, "For seeing they saw not, and hearing they understood not, but like shapes in a dream they wrought all the days of their lives in confusion - AESCHYLUS, Prometheus Bound."

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3 by Vanessa S Quest

XXX

**Part 3:**(by Vanessa S. Quest)

The air is heavy, somehow, in Hotch's office and for the life of him Reid can't help but think that a gravitational flux getting ready to open the floor and eat him might make for a better day than this.

"We should probably process the notes."

"We're putting this office on lock-down." They speak almost in-time with each other, but Reid always had the propensity to speak quickly, and in that hair's breadth he takes the lead. Reid nods waiting to hear more from Hotch because he knows this isn't the end of it.

"This 'admirer' hasn't sent anything to your apartment, have they?"

"Absolutely not!" Reid shivers just thinking about having some crazed stalker know where he lives. He remembers with crystal clarity just how well that worked out for Elle, _and Hotch_.

"Alright, let's keep it that way. I'll escort you back tonight."

"Will you be staying to personally hold guard, too?" Reid lets out, a bit more upset than what he would like. "Because today you're supposed to get Jack from Cub Scouts, and if someone IS following me…? That's not even a remote possibility. I can have Morgan take me back."

Reid doesn't mention that he chooses Morgan, not because the agent is like a brother to him, not because he's amazing at kicking doors down or self-defense, no, he chooses Morgan because his trunk has no less than one cubic foot on even Hotch's sedan in trunk space. Trunk space he's banking on to slip out under the radar. Garcia's car would be the next best bet, since the whole point is to avoid putting Hotch in the cross hairs, and after Garcia's trunk comes Prentiss's. She and Rossi might as well drive matching coups, but if the stalker decides to cut him in half…? Then he'd manage just fine in their trunks.

Reid shutters, these aren't the thoughts that he wants. "Excuse me, I have to check something…"

"Reid. Reid!" Hotch fumbles his attempt to get Reid out of his head and into a conversation, which he takes as a clear sign of trouble. The young genius lives in his head, and it isn't an easy task to get him engaged sometimes, and now his thoughts are preoccupied with a psychotic stalker. He would have done more to snap Reid out of his funk if he didn't have to crack down on the office and set up a mandatory detainment of any and all non-authorized persons coming into the building.

Sitting at his desk, Reid turns on his computer. It starts up quickly, which would usually surprise other people, but truthfully Reid doesn't save things on his computer, he doesn't have to. Sure, reports and crime scene photos might be on his hard-drive, but for the most part, his brain's processing speeds were much better. Benefit: he never had to defragment himself or reconfigure a thought.

The computer loads his icons, and he connects to the FBI intranet to directly punch into the FDA and DEA sites. Within minutes, he has read over hundreds of potential causes for Agent Anderson's symptoms. Unfortunately, Reid doesn't know the dosage or Anderson's exact condition, so instead, he vaguely ponders the submissive, passive-aggressive profile of a poisoner.

It just doesn't fit.

How does a person go from the confidence to send gifts and threats to a federal building to suddenly being too meek to try something in person? This isn't about an impersonal end. No-this man is dangerous, obsessive, methodical, and chances are that dose never had the intentions of killing him. He doesn't know how to feel about that.

Behind his ears, Reid feels the building pressure he knows to be trouble. The headache forming now has all the marks of a withdrawal headache. Begrudgingly, Reid gets up from his desk to approach the coffee machine.

While he walks there he doesn't feel eyes on him, he sees them. He sees the gawking water-cooler chattering gossipers who had been so in awe and envious of him on Friday with the debacle of a serenade courtesy some singing flower-boy now practically oozing with blame and contempt for him. Right, because he wants to get his coworkers, or own self, poisoned. That's his daily goal: to get no less than five people taken to the ER thanks to him.

He doesn't bow his head to shuffle for coffee nervously. Three years ago, if he even managed to meek forward for coffee, he'd have buried his chin in his chest to look as small as possible. But right now? Reid wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Yes, a clearly psychopathic person is stalking him. Yes, he's a trained profiler who should be able to pick up signs that a person is like this, too, and yes, he is afraid. But Reid has already covered that he knows better.

Stalkers don't choose a person because they're convenient; well, some did, but not most! They choose people who somehow resonate to their idealized fantasies. Reid really wishes that just once he'll get a letter or be approached by a normal person just showing their admiration; he hopes for this almost as much as he hopes that when he gets home tonight he won't find any stray body parts littering his abode or entryway.

He doubts he'll receive body parts, though, as the unsub would have to focus on another person first to do this, and he seems too intent on Reid.

Reid thinks this as he walks into the break room. Just as he reaches the pot, his left hand holding his mug labeled "DR. SPENCER REID - BAU" thanks to the Brother label gun at their disposal, he hears a shrill from just beyond the elevator.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME! PERVERTS!" The voice is clearly female and loud. It makes Reid's hands jump which he instantly felt in the form of hot liquid splashing onto his wrist and hand.

"Ouch…hot!" Reid sets the cup and the pot down unceremoniously before quickly turning on the cold water in the sink and dowsing his burned skin underneath the icy stream. "Hot…hot…hot…" He mutters as he listens for more of the commotion.

"Miss, please come with me." An agent says, and not just any agent, either. Reid knows that to be the voice of one Emily Prentiss.

"I signed in correctly. They said to come up!" The woman hisses, clearly upset. Reid peaks his head outside the break room to see why. The swarm of five agents, four of which are male and built remarkably like line-backers, makes him think he knows why.

"Who is this for?" Emily asks gesturing her hand to the bag.

"Some guy named Reid." The woman huffs, "I didn't do anything wrong! This is my job, I deliver things… I'm a courier!"

"Did you accept this directly from the person trying to deliver this?"

"Huh…? No. Someone dropped it off at the store. It isn't my job to deal with customers; it's my job to get their packages where they pay me to take them."

"Do you know how they paid…?"

"Again, I'm a courier, _not a cashier_."

Emily is putting on gloves, looking into the bag, inside it a box.

"We have a box. Morgan, call up bomb squad."

"Wait…what did you just say? Did…did you say bomb? Oh, my god, get that thing away from me!" The woman shrieks, and she shoves the bag away knocking it over. Emily reflexively moves her forearm to shield her face, and as a small low-impact explosion erupts, she's glad she did.

Glass pellets from shatter-resistant glass sprinkles from her arm. There are a few nicks in her skin, but all of them are superfluous.

Two of the agents drag the courier with them. "You're coming with us."

"I had no idea it was a bomb! Oh, my god… I had no idea!" She's bawling, Reid could tell, but he didn't care because Prentiss is bleeding, and he can't help but feel guilty for all of this.

Inside the box, besides a punctured aerosol tank and remnants of glass shrapnel, is a purple scarf. The scarf acted like a guide, funneling the blast in one direction.

Fast as always to get over things; Emily musters a, "Why would he use shatter-proof glass?"

"Emily are you okay?" Reid asks, his voice shaken.

"Reid? Reid you shouldn't be here," she mentions, thinking of how large and pained his eyes look just looking at the carnage of a box and glass beads along the ground.

Morgan approaches Prentiss, he spots Garcia who has stuck her head out of the doorway and signals her with his eyes to set her feet in motion. Garcia in a fuzzy blur, namely because of the magenta faux-fur collar on her shirt, reaches Reid and pulls him to the break room. "You, come with me, now. You, do your bomb squad thing. You, are you okay?"

Prentiss nods at the drive-by salutation before she sees Reid and Garcia shrink in the distance. Garcia pulls Reid to the conference room before closing the door.

"Non-lethal force. Same as with Anderson…?" Prentiss offers.

Morgan nods. "This bastard's working his way up to something, and I don't know what it is, but I don't like it."

XXX

Reid looks at Garcia, she assumes it's a glare, but Reid doesn't know the meaning of the word. Okay, he does, and probably knows every synonym and antonym of the word in the English language, too, but he still can't glare to save his life. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't." His reply is harsher than she expects from him. He puts his hands to his face.

"Prentiss is fine. Anderson's going to _be_ fine. Everything's going to get better." She offers, which she realizes she probably shouldn't have. She can't make promises that the psycho stalker is going to just disappear, but she can't believe for a minute anything would happen to her Junior G Man.

"Do they know what it was?" Reid asks, obviously out of the loop.

"Yeah," Garcia pats a seat signaling Reid to sit down if he wants to know, too. He does, so she continues. "They found some sea urchin spines inside the chocolate, so the lab techs ran it and voila, the toxin is heat labile. Which is weird because you'd think if it's heat sensitive, and you put it in molten chocolate to hide them, it would totally get rid of the poison."

"Most of it, that's the point. It's not supposed to kill me; it's supposed to make me suffer or learn a lesson…or something." For a moment, Reid internally debates the merits of using a personal day to leave the office early, but now with Prentiss hurt and J.J. gone, he just didn't see that happening.

The rest of the day crawls forward. Agents buzzing about to gather evidence, the highlight, Reid hopes, would be the case-briefing, hoping above all else that maybe they'd finally get called out of state or something. Instead, to no mild frustration of Reid's, the conversation turns to Reid's stalker.

Somewhere around the point of mentioning protective detail, Reid stands and walks out of the room to contain what little remains of his dignity. He isn't up to this, and even though he has spent the last few days dissecting this entire situation, he still has little more than bad feelings. Most of the evidence is destroyed by time or his own foolish hopes to wish it all away. Walking with a purpose, he goes to his desk, pulls open the drawer, takes out the steno pad with his preliminary profile from the hand-written note, and returns to the conference room to gaping team members.

"Holding out on us, huh, Pretty-Boy?"

"Psycholinguistics," he explains, tossing the notebook to the table, "I'm taking a personal day, Hotch."

"Reid, you have to be kidding…"

"Reid…? Reid!" He doesn't turn back. Instead, he bee-lines to his desk; grabs his satchel, his pistol, and heads to the elevator staving off all arguments. He's thankful that none of his teammates follow him, although he isn't surprised when another agent follows behind him onto the elevator.

"Dr. Reid."

"Agent Lowe." They nod to acknowledge each other.

"I drive a black sedan. Automatic. I'll take the company car." He hands off his keys, Reid thanks him with a hand-gesture. "Are you heading straight home?"

"I need to get some groceries. Have a route in mind?"

"Already plugged into the GPS." Reid nods solemnly. He hates protective detail, but this is how it has to be, because if it's not this, it might be Jack and Hotch. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything happens to them.

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4 by HalfBrokenMoon

Part 4: (by Half_Broken_Moon)

The whiteness and square patterns on the tile floor blurred a little in his eyes. He sat there, hunched over and thought of the many possible ways he could go outside without alerting the others of his mini nervous break down. The little square tiles that a minute ago were moving around in a dizzying pace have settled. Reid took another deep breath and closed his eyes tightly and envisioned his next move.

It had been the day after Prentiss was injured and the judgmental looks had died down. The other agents stopped their childish behavior and moved on to panic and worry for their resident genius. It's funny how it took two near-death experiences to change a whole group of people.

He stepped outside and wondered if Hotch finished his meeting with Strauss that was taking an eternity. Strauss wanted to immediately send Reid into protective custody, something Reid wasn't too happy to hear. Though Hotch reassured him that he would fight to keep him at Quantico the unit chief wasn't too sure himself.

Reid stepped out of the bathroom and leaned his thin frame against the wall of the dark grey hallway that was only a few feet away from Strauss's office. His thoughts raced; some about the outcome of his future as a person hidden in another town or another state because some sick freak decided to target him for some reason, kept him firmly anchored to the wall. Whoever this sick freak was, he wasn't afraid to hurt others to get to him or to send a message.

The door opened slowly and Reid's stomach flipped as he saw Hotch walk outside. The older man spotted him from his peripherals and smiled. Though it wasn't the most appropriate time to smile, the sight of the person he wanted to see all day there was enough to bring it out.

"Well?" Reid pushed himself away from the wall and lazily swayed on his feet. "What's my new name?"

"Dr. Spencer Reid," Hotch smirked as he thought wistfully. "Actually, Dr. Spencer Felicity Reid. I added a middle name."

Reid blanched, "W-what? Felicity?"

Hotch laughed and began to walk towards the elevator. He brought out one of his rare toothy grins because Reid was so unsure if Hotch was joking or being serious. Of course, Hotch was joking, but right now his brain wasn't capable to tell with all the worry and exhaustion.

"Spencer," Hotch pressed the elevator door and peeked at his tall genius who looked like a living ghost. "You're not going into witness protection, but we will have to discuss the new restrictions Strauss and I agreed upon. Possibly the only thing we've ever agreed on, actually."

Reid turned his heavy head to Hotch and forced a tired smile, "Fine, but I would like a nap first."

"Rossi bought a new expensive couch yesterday and won't be in his office today. You should crash there and get a little privacy."

"Privacy, that sounds perfect," Reid said after walking into the elevator. He winked and closed the door before Hotch could join him. Hotch wondered if he should have given in to some of Strauss's demands after all.

XXXX

"Mrrrgggg…." Reid turned. He wished the booming voice over his head would go away. He felt weak and tired because it had been 18 hours, 36 minutes and 24 seconds since his last cup of coffee. If this was what happened after going less than a day without drinking coffee then maybe it was best to kick the habit. When he retired that is. "What do you want?"

"Hello, Mr. Snippy," Prentiss patted at Reid's shoulder lightly in an attempt to rouse him to a fully awake state. "It's time to go home. Hotch is getting ready to leave in fifteen minutes, and he told me to wake you."

"What time is it?" Reid's eyes flew wide open, and he jumped out of Rossi's ridiculously comfortable couch. "Don't tell me I slept in the entire day!"

"Yep, all day long," Prentiss grabbed her black designer purse from the ground and swung it over her good arm. "Don't worry. You won't be in trouble. Nobody's upset."

"Right…" Reid looked down at the plush carpet and glanced at his black chucks that were lazily lying on the floor next to his feet. He wanted to say that the reason nobody was mad was because they didn't really have to follow him around or babysit him the entire day. They could actually get some work done as long as the doctor snoozed away in Rossi's office. Somehow though, those words didn't come out. Probably because Prentiss stood there as she stared silently and intently at Reid, he noted. He doubted that she wanted to put up with his whining. "Drive safely then."

"See you tomorrow," Prentiss brushed her dark hair away from her face and smiled. As she walked out, she left the door fully open and Reid could see the bullpen empty out. Some agents walked by and flashed him warm smiles, and again, he felt a pang of guilt. Why couldn't they just be angry with him like before?

"Hey," Hotch tapped on the door lightly which brought Reid back down to Earth. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah," Reid shook his head, "Just woke up."

"The other agents are waiting for us downstairs. We should get going," Hotch said. He watched the doctor gather his things as fast as he could despite being drowsy. "I had Agent Marsh buy you some Italian food; it's something to look forward to."

"Mmhm," Reid smiled, slipping into his brown jacket and draping his purple scarf over his neck. "Thank god, I'm so hungry I could eat a moose."

Hotch smirked, "Horses aren't good enough anymore?"

"A male moose can weigh up to 1540 pounds and can reach up to 7 feet tall. Yep, I'm ready for a moose," Reid drew a sleepy smile. These little jokes were probably the only thing that kept him from completely losing it and pulling a Unibomber-cut off all ties with the outside world and live in the woods until he got caught, hopefully_ without getting caught_ or bombing people.

Hotch closed the door behind him, but Reid was too busy as he pulled on his chucks to notice. The thin man was hopping around on one leg, and Hotch decided that it was the perfect opportunity to do a little sneak attack.

"Ha!" Reid fell back into the couch, his shoe dangled precariously on his green, sock-clad foot. Hotch leaned his body forward; but it wasn't like his usual playful, lust-filled self. Hotch frowned deeply, his dark eyes stern and serious, as he captured Reid's own bewildered light brown eyes.

"I wish I could just have Jessica take care of Jack while I stay with you until this whole thing blows over."

"You know we can't," Reid rapidly mumbled under his breath. "Everyone would know."

"I know," Hotch leaned a few inches closer and gave Reid a simple kiss. Reid chuckled and he pushed Hotch away a little. "They're waiting for us. Let me put my shoes on."

Hotch rolled his eyes in a very un-Hotch-like manner and grabbed the dangling shoe on Reid's foot. He pushed it on gently, and Reid's heart began to race at how embarrassingly sweet Hotch looked. "How about you buy new shoes? These have holes on the sides."

"Garcia said that the rattier the chucks, the cooler you are."

"Garcia also said the same thing about ponchos and capes."

"Oh well… I'll buy some later, then," Reid joked.

Hotch kissed him once more after he put the other shoe on. "Lets go home, okay?" he whispered in Reid's ear. Reid's face flushed completely red, because dammit, Hotch knew exactly which buttons to push, now.

The next day, Reid felt a little better about this situation, but only a tiny bit. The worry in everyone's eyes had turned into a sort of creepy caring glint. As a profiler, Reid knew they were faking it, they tried to hide their concern, but it was probably because Hotch told them to act normal just to keep the genius a little less stressed out. It didn't matter though; the only relief he felt was when he could see Hotch from his desk. Just the sight of him reassured Reid that everything was going to be okay.

"Anderson is feeling better," Morgan polished a red apple with his hand and placed it onto Reid's desk. "That's good news, right?"

"That's good," Reid pressed his lips into a thin smile. "When is he going to be discharged?"

"In a week he'll be back here flirting with the receptionist," Morgan chuckled, but he stopped and studied Reid a little. "I know you've heard this a hundred times already, but are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Reid ripped his eyes away from Hotch's form, and then directed them at Morgan. Morgan sat there eyes like a lost puppy that'd been walking around a city block. It was a strange visual for the genius, but that's exactly how Morgan looked right now. "I'm fine. Really. Just not used to being without coffee for this long."

"So the rumors are true," Morgan swayed in his chair and grabbed the apple from Reid's desk. "You're worried about someone poisoning it. I can't blame you."

Reid nodded and sighed as he saw one of his 'babysitters' stand a yard away like a giant fly on the wall. Always with his eyes on Reid, always watching and always still despite everything else buzzing by.

"We're gonna catch that bastard," Morgan put the apple on top of Reid's head. "Meanwhile you should eat something. Garcia won't be too happy with me if you wither away."

"Morgan," Reid whined when he grabbed the apple from his head. The man was already back at his desk before Reid had a chance to return the apple. Though it was just a measly apple to some, it was more of a declaration that the genius should start eating again and to not worry. The notion wasn't new but his colleagues noticed when Reid's nibbling had stopped completely. Might as well give them a show, Reid thought.

After that display that had caused Garcia to cheer, he decided to hide in Rossi's vacant office again and take a long nap. It was probably the lack of coffee or sleep or food but the genius felt that any word of any news was causing him more anxiety. He wondered if the bodyguards and Hotch were hiding something hideous from him. Just so many thoughts raced inside his head, the heavy feeling all over his body, and the emptiness now in his chest was slowly taking over. They allowed him to come back to the couch that Rossi was too kind in offering.

"I bet they're sick of staring at me," Reid mumbled into the tan cushions of the couch. 

XXX

Later that afternoon, Reid was woken up again. This time it was Hotch who loomed over him. "I don't like it that you're hiding in here this much."

"I swear I caught up with the case fi-"

"I'm not talking about your work load," Hotch leaned closer and brushed his fingers through Reid's short messy curls. "You're hiding in here because of something else. Do you honestly think that removing yourself from the group is going to make it easier on us?"

"Is that what I'm doing?" Reid said to himself. To some, it might have come out as condescending, but Hotch knew that Reid was a little lost inside himself and was honestly unaware of the subconscious behavior he presented.

"I want to see you drinking coffee again. Just trust that I have everything under control."

"I trust you."

"Do you?"

"Yes," Reid said after he pushed himself up from the couch and sat upright. "I just don't want you guys to get hurt. Anderson and Emily…"

"They're both okay," Hotch sat next to him and held Reid's long and pale, freezing hands tightly. "Just trust me on this."

"I told you that I already do," Reid chuckled. "Do I need to put it in writing? I hereby declare that I trust Aaron Hotchner fully and undeniably."

"Only if you frame it," Hotch ruffled his hair and stood up. "Come outside and grab some food. Garcia's been yelling at me for not making sure you're eating properly."

"Alright," Reid grinned and reached for his black chucks on the ground. "I guess Rossi wants his office back."

"He's been bitching and moaning about it all day."

XXX

A week passed and the security around Reid relaxed somewhat. Sure, there were a couple of agents here and there, and Hotch made sure to always have Reid's apartment complex secured, but the fact was-whoever it was who sent those things was still out there. Why did he stop? Did he suddenly have a heart attack, or did he find a different and easier-to-stalk victim? Nobody really knew right now, but the investigation, however stalled, was still ongoing.

Reid felt relaxed enough to do a little shopping for some new shoes. Ever since Hotch made the remark about his ratty chucks, he felt that he could at least give him that. The chucks had to go and probably a nicer pair of shoes could make their way into his wardrobe. "I'm sorry, but I need to get new shoes. Is that okay?" He asked one of the agents named Rogers who was in charge today. Rogers nodded as he quietly gave in.

"Wait outside; I'll be quick," Reid shut the door behind him and ran into the store.

The bell that belonged in the small shoe store dinged. Reid walked in and was greeted cheerfully by a short heavy-set woman. She was dressed in a wine colored blouse with dark pinstriped slacks that clearly read 'sales person'. "Hello, sir. How can I help you?"

"Um… I'm just looking."

"Well if there is anything you need, feel free to ask. My name is Rosaline." The woman directed a quick tour for Reid through the shoe store. She grinned wider and sweeter than she should have as she deposited Reid in the men's section in the back corner then left him to browse.

Though the store was small, the men's aisle could house him for hours and have no one interrupt at all thanks to its rear location, typical of the men's section of most clothing stores. The smell was pleasant and encouraged Reid to start looking despite the desolate isolation he felt from his position in the aisle.

"Hello, sir. How can I help you?" A smooth and relaxed voice came from his side. Reid pulled down a box of shoes that he thought were the only ones that had that particular light tan color he liked. "Can you find out if you have these in a size… 12 and a half? 13 would be okay, too."

"Sure." The man grabbed the box. He was the same height as Reid and had a more posh air about him than the woman greeter. Still, he had that salesman look about him because of the nice fitted vest and dark slacks he sported. "I'll be with you in a moment. Just have to check the back."

"Thank you." Reid perched himself on the stool and smiled to himself, he felt rather victorious about finding a style he liked. He pictured Hotch putting that shoe on like he did with the chucks the other day and it brought out a wider grin. He couldn't help but render a scene of Hotch gently holding his foot and look into his eyes intensely. Slip the shoe onto his foot as he-

"I'm sorry, sir, but this is the only size we have," The man interrupted. "We do have the pair you requested in one of our other locations."

"Er," Reid blushed, swatting away his fantasy with embarrassment. The man slowly smiled before him as Reid coughed and mumbled a thank you.

"I'm sorry if this seems too forward," the salesman said as he cocked his head slightly to the right. "but, how about we go around the corner and grab a cup of coffee?"

"W-wha?" Reid stuttered and blushed harder.

"Please?" He begged.

"I'm sorry, but I'm already with someone," Reid smiled apologetically. "Th-thank you anyway, though."

"Alright. How about we go to a museum or a bookstore? You like that sort of thing, right?"

Reid darted his eyes around the aisle and felt that something was definitely wrong. "Um… no. Well yes… How did you know that?"

"I just do," the man shrugged with ease. "Well, how about a movie? A foreign film downtown? That sounds nice, right?"

"Thank you for your help, but I have to go," Reid gave him an awkward smile as he scooted away down the aisle and headed towards where the greeter was waiting for him to give him a farewell. That wasn't what he was greeted with, unfortunately. The woman was lying next to the register bleeding profusely out of two open stab wounds to her chest. Her eyes cold, lifeless, and her body limp.

"R-Rogers!" Reid ran outside to the parked car and hoped that Rogers would be there ready with his gun. He pulled the door open and quickly got inside. "Rogers! Get your gun there's someone inside the store and- Oh god…"

Reid pressed a shaky hand to his mouth and held his breath. Rogers had his throat slashed open, blood still gushed out of his wound and dripped onto the charcoal grey carpet into a deep crimson puddle. He slumped onto the steering wheel, and Reid felt like time had actually slowed down as the agent in charge of assuring his safety actually died in front of him.

The doctor couldn't climb out of the car fast enough, but no matter how quick he was, it didn't matter. The friendly salesman had Reid pinned against the car and placed a white satin kerchief onto the young man's face. Reid tried to struggle but the man, who didn't look like he could be trusted carrying an old fifteen inch TV screen around the corner, was too strong. Slowly, as reality came into focus in his mind his vision blurred around him until his eyelids became unbearably heavy. So this was it? Those were his last thoughts before he completely went under.

XXX

"Hnn…" Reid rolled around as he slowly woke up from this strange dream he had. At least he hoped it was a dream, but once he saw the baby blue colors of the unusually soft sheets he knew it wasn't so. He steadied himself as he sat up and was shocked at how big the bed was. It was a California King that was 72 inches by 84 inches in dimension. It was a marvel to behold.

It was a very unusual setting for someone who has been kidnapped. The room was spacey and it had to be to have such a bed inside it and still have room to walk around freely. The bed's sheets looked nice, expensive in fact. The double curtains were heavy, but had a similar stylish pattern as the comforters. There was a door open to the side that revealed quite a nice large bathroom. Was this some kind of trick? Was there another room or a barn or a jail cell waiting for him later on? Reid felt that he'd rather pick the jail cell because it would be easier to profile the kidnapper. Just what was he up to?

"I'm not tied up," he mumbled to himself. The doctor curled his knees up to his chest and huffed out a large breath. There were two options: stay and see what happens, or find a way out. The second choice seemed the sanest, but because of the lack of restraints, the possibility of something less pleasant waiting outside that door was there. He began to play statistics through his head about stalker-related kidnappings. If the dialog within the shoe store was any indicator, and it had been the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade of signals to Reid, this more…posh lair read like a very bad date-rape scenario.

"Ah," Reid winced when he felt a sharp pain on his shoulder. There was a large bandage on his shoulder where he guessed was a decently-sized cut underneath. Whoever this person was dressed it with the utmost care.

"Careful," the man he saw earlier in the shoe store pushed open the door and popped his head out to greet Reid with his bright, cheerful smile. "Don't push yourself. Oh, and that was an accident, just so you know."

"Who are you?" Reid asked, careful not to anger the man. "Um…what's your name?"

"My name? Hmm…you can call me Tim, for now. Nothing too complicated," Tim walked closer to the bed and leaned lazily against the wall. "How are you feeling?"

"… Fine," Reid answered. "Just a little tired… Tim? Why am I here?"

Tim quirked a smile and sat on the foot of the bed. He stretched over to meet Reid's eyes with his and softly brushed his hand against Reid's cheek. "I'm here to save you."

Reid's stomach lurched when he felt Tim's touch. "S-save? Save me from what?"

"So many things," Tim shrugged a little. "Do you want anything to eat? You must be hungry."

"No," Reid answered rapidly. "No, I'm fine."

"You should," Tim reached for one of Reid's short unruly curls and adjusted it so it wouldn't stick out so much. "I'm really quite the gourmet cook, and it would be an utmost shame to not try even one bite. Hmm... on second thought, I can bring it to you here. How does that sound?"

Reid felt like his eyes would cross from Tim's overly friendly manner. Some of the unsubs he remembered tried to act affectionate to their victims in the beginning, but, by the end, they turned out to be some of the worst. He knew this game, and right now it was safe to do what the unsub asked for. Reid slowly nodded his head, and Tim's eyes lit up. "You're just how I always thought you'd be. I'll be back with your meal."

After Tim took his leave, Reid couldn't help but to think of previous cases where the victims were kidnapped, fed, and then their bodies found off in some abandoned, empty place. The coroner would always tell him exactly what they ate for their last meals as if it was a piece of trivia. This was probably not going to happen, Reid thought. Not right away, at least. These types of unsubs kept their victims around for a while, that much he knew.

Collectors.

Reid sighed as he touched his bandage lightly. This one wants to take his sweet time, and it didn't take a genius to realize it wasn't going to be pretty.

TBC.


	5. Chapter 5 by Vanessa S Quest

XXX

**Part 5:**

Reid would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved when Tim had left him in the room alone after their first encounter after the abduction. He looked down at his bandaged shoulder.

First step in hostage negotiations was measuring how trustworthy the aggressors were. Keeping that in mind, Reid had to figure out if Tim was impulsive and remorseful or if he was devious, meticulous and far cleverer than he was willing to credit himself with.

Reid intuitively knew which it was before diving under the bandages. He knew that sort of stitch, and the fact that he needed stitches riled him for several reasons. His fingers traced the swollen skin. Tim didn't 'accidentally' hit him; he had surgically and precisely bled him! It made sense just why he had been so dizzy upon coming to. Ether aside, he probably lost a little more than what was recommended for donation purposes.

He replayed the scenes of contact in his head, picking up the finest of details. For instance, his fitted slacks weren't off-the-shelf; they were custom tailored. His vest had been taken in to contour well, too. And thanks to Prentiss' training, Reid could say for certain it was real Armani. Even with commissions, not even the Tim Gunn of shoe salesmen was that successful. Next, the way he spoke, confident, casual, but sophisticated. He added well-educated and intelligent to the profile. Oppressing, not one to take no for an answer, calculating, sociopath, too. He didn't have to kill the greeter. Rogers he probably couldn't get around, but the greeter? No. He had stabbed her twice in the chest knowing just where to hit to debilitate her. He probably severed her left subclavian vein and right common carotid before it left her chest. Even in a blitz attack the cuts were clean, no hesitation, no wavering in his resolve or impulse, he did it without getting blood on him, either. He also did it from behind. He had grabbed her from behind around the mouth with one hand, stabbed once with tremendous force to hit the right common carotid, pulled it out then stabbed with slightly less force the left subclavian vein. He used his left hand to attack.

Considering the options, the unsub obviously came from money and probably a strong Protestant background. Maybe he was a doctor? The medical knowledge was clearly there, but then why resort to using ether? There are many much more effective ways to bring a person down, even if close proximity is desired. The thread in his wound wasn't surgical grade. Despite the thought of possible infection, it made him rule out practicing doctor. Maybe he was a researcher or a biologist in a laboratory that worked on animals? But then, he'd still have access to drugs better suited to sedate than ether.

He debated the way he spoke, the way he described his skill-sets. Obviously, this was a man who would take private lessons to better himself. It's possible he did that with medical training. He was reminded of how Tim had called himself gourmet, but not a chef-he still opted to step down from the official label for a more layman cook. He differentiated that for a reason. Maybe being a chef was beneath him as a career, and to label himself as one would be seen as demeaning despite his own passion for it. That fed into the narcissism. So, if he came from money and had to have an impressive career, what could it be? Was he poli sci? A lawyer? A CEO? He could live off a trust fund, that was a possibility, and it would partly explain his earlier gifts trying to buy Reid's affections. Simultaneously, it failed. The unsub took time to do things, but did so at a scheduled time. He had an image to uphold. If he wanted to uphold an image in this sense, he'd do so in his working life, too.

He was undoubtedly a high-end, white-collar professional. Medical law would explain the skill-sets, the education. Just as Reid came to a resolution about what Tim must do between stalking him, the door cracked open.

Food had never smelled so nauseating and delicious at the same time. He remembered the recounts of Anderson falling to the ground near dead as others assumed he was bullshitting, and it helped curb any interests.

"Here, I made this specifically for you. I'm certain you'll find it superb. Puffer fish is a delicacy in…"

"Japan. I know. The tetroda toxin in small quantities causes a tingling sensation when eaten."

"Ah, I'd expect no less. Now, I insist. Try some."

Reid gulped already knowing he didn't have a choice. He took a sizable bite knowing this would placate his captor and be the safest way to do it, he hoped. "Did you go to school for cooking? In Japan, you have to possess a special license to serve puffer fish."

"Hmm? I took lessons, nothing too formal. How is it?"

"…Delicious. You should have some, too." Reid mentioned, namely because that would allow him to not eat the full plate or toxic load before him. Even a fraction of a second delay in this game could be fatal, and he didn't want to just willfully throw those fractions to the wind. "What do you do professionally, Tim? You're obviously a very smart and capable man. You must have an amazing job. Tell me about it…?"

Right, play to his ego, Reid cheered himself.

Tim smiled fondly, "Why Spencer, are you trying to profile me?"

His face faltered, "Uh, occupational hazard. I am really curious, after all, you're doing so much for me, its obviously not cheap… It's the least I can do to have worthwhile conversation…" Reid's stomach flipped on him; he felt violently ill. The least he could do would be sit in his apartment with his boyfriend eating ice cream out of a half gallon container and watch Star Trek reruns. That would also be the most pleasant option in this case.

He leaned closer to Reid, "You don't need to try so hard. I love you for who you are. Besides, mundane drivel isn't conversation either of us is suited for. What's your favorite period of paintings?"

"I'm not very interested in art," Reid said, swallowing hard, "I… don't get it."

"Hmm, that's quite the quirk from a man who loves classical poetry and authors. Well, who do you prefer for interpretations of the afterlife?"

"Milton and Dante. Milton convinced the church to accept the state of the universe without losing face, and Dante's hierarchy simply resonates."

"Very good choices."

Reid opted to leave out that Milton starts his novel by empathizing with the devil, showing him as more of a protagonist than outright villain.

Feeling eyes still on him, a sensation he told himself to quickly adapt to in the situation, Reid looked at Tim and waited. He wasn't an alpha male. He didn't have the personality type to attack outright. He knew he was a beta; that he seemed meeker, was meeker than people like Hotch and Morgan, so he had to play to his own strengths. True it might seem like playing coy, but being agreeable would be the least damaging with this sort of perpetrator. Play into the fantasy. But it's a delicate balance-too agreeable will make them snap or carry out perversions they might not have outright owned up to themselves for, but too little would cause an explosion of violence.

"Tim, what do _you_ like? Music, art, I barely know you, and you know so much about me. That hardly seems fair." Reid paused, "So far, I know you like to cook, and you like to excel at the things you like to do."

He hoped by now the team had been alerted to his predicament and that someone would start the search, as he stared into wolfish, carnal eyes that seemed happy to bat at it's now cornered prey until it inevitably died a bloody heap in its mouth. Reid kept that mantra up. They'd know by now; they had to.

XXX

It's a local custom for Reid to be right about most statistical probabilities. Hotch had received the call from a frantic Garcia after she had found news coverage regarding duel fatalities in a shopping district near where Reid lives. She had been trolling the internet for potential case files, and truthfully keeping tabs on anything bizarre or criminal in Reid's residential area just to make sure, but when a viral video hit her computer that contained one very dead federal agent being recorded by a nearly hysterical teenaged boy who likely discovered the body, and her own ability to place a name to the very bloody face of being one Special Agent Raymond Rogers, Garcia had dialed Reid whose phone immediately went to a sinking sign of voicemail before hitting up Hotch, Morgan, and the head agent in charge of Reid's custody.

Notably, this was not the way Garcia wanted to spend any 6:37PM, let alone Friday. As she relayed information to Agent Ortiz, the man quickly called several numbers on his second work phone-which is always a bad sign when you have to have _two_ work cell phones. Ortiz confirmed that none of his other agents were with Reid and immediately labeled Reid as being in an endangered, crisis status.

Within five minutes, Prentiss and Rossi had arrived at the crime scene, both having been out on the town, with reservations to wine and dine not too far from the shopping district. The plans now were obviously shot to hell. The others tagged back varying time of arrivals, the soonest being three more minutes, the latest being fifteen.

Hotch gnawed guiltily at the inside of his cheek as he spotted the storefront that had been absent from the video focusing so intently on the breathy sounds of a freaked out teenage boy and the face of a very dead agent. Bakers Shoes. He ran a strong hand down his face as he walked inside the shop to discover the body of the dead woman.

No one needed to state the obvious of how bad it was to see not two, but three distinct blood spots between the car and the store. Punctuating that uneasy feeling, Morgan's fist made hard contact with the brick wall.

"Son of a bitch!"

Garcia swallowed a teary gulp and looked at Morgan, "Teach that wall a lesson, stud."

Morgan could only manage a half-felt quirk of one corner of his mouth before nursing his hand. "You know with the amount of control and speed he did this," he pointed to where a pool of Rogers' blood indicated his body, "And that… that this blood isn't his. It's Reid's, and I don't need to wait a day and a half on the forensics lab for them to prove it."

XXX

Reid looked at the corner of the room without moving his head, then flickered his eyes back to the unsub wondering just what lie behind the walls. How far out of town was he? Was he above ground? The light coming in from the window might be artificial. So far, the light source hadn't changed angles, the same shadows played across the corner, and it had been about an hour.

Tim interpreted the look as a come-hither look instead of Reid keeping a constant eye on his captor. He sat next to the agent putting a hand on Reid's cheek.

Flinching, while instinctual, hadn't been the best response, Reid noted. Tim took hold of Reid's wrist with his left hand and squeezed, hard, while stroking Reid's cheek with his right hand gently.

"You have beautiful eyelashes."

Swallowing hard, Reid blinked, "Really? Why, thank you. No one has told me that before." He lied, three separate hookers had, as well as Morgan, Garcia, and oddly enough Gideon at one BAU party or another. He was pretty sure it was a bet against Elle after one of the three said hookers mentioned it to him.

"A little brown mascara would bring your eyes out beautifully."

Reid's eyebrows flexed in thought, "Make-up?"

"Oh, I don't mean to get you hussied up. Just a little. Just to enhance your natural look. Your lips, they don't need any tint, but maybe a gloss to fully exploit their plumpness." Reid leaned back a little to get a better sight of the man's features as he said such things.

Tim didn't seem to mind taking in more of Reid. "We'll have to make some subtle adjustments, of course. You accept the Lord Jesus as your savior. I'm not incorrect about that, right?"

Reid measured the likelihood of the outcomes if he said anything but affirmation, "You're not incorrect about that."

"And, you know the book verse by verse."

"Depending on which version you mean, I do. I know it in Latin, Spanish, French, and English." Reid clarified.

"So you know God's law. God doesn't allow for homosexuality; it's unsightly. But you're attracted to me, and I'm attracted to you, so it's only natural that we make it work in a way God accepts."

"…I don't follow you…"

"You're meant to be my wife, Spencer. Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself!" He dipped onto a knee and pulled out a ring. "Spencer, marry me!"

All the color ran from Reid's face as his mouth parted. "Tim, I… I hardly know you. I _don't_ know you… We've just met. Don't you think you're rushing into…"

"Of course, I'm not. I've had my eye on you for _years_."

Somehow, Reid managed to go paler.

"I have to say, I can't wait for you to grow your hair back out," he took the moment to play with Reid's bangs. Reid swiped his hand away.

"Tim, you're going to let me out of this room, now. You're going to tell me where I am…"

Tim grabbed Reid's hand, crushing it with an insincere smile, his hard, dark eyes belayed the expression. "You are going to watch your tone, you little whore." He smiled slightly sweeter, "Oh my, the language. I apologize, one shouldn't talk to a lady in such a way. However, I know about your little…indiscretion with your boss. That's when I knew I had to make my move, otherwise I'd lose you forever, and you'd burn in hell. I couldn't have that. I have to save you from yourself."

"Tim, you're hurting my hand…let go."

"I told you to watch your _tone_, dear." He squeezed harder, leaning in for a kiss. "So give me your answer already! I know you'll say yes, but I just can't wait to hear it!" His other hand made its way around Reid's waist snaking him closer, adding heavy, unwanted physical pressure to the point of pain.

Reid winced. The longer he went between answering, the more forceful the grips were getting. When he felt fingers start digging in just below his rib he gave an almost haughty, "Alright, yes… I'll…marry you. Ok? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The force behind Tim's grip softened immediately. Instead, he pulled the dazed Reid to his lips, kissing him passionately. To Reid, it felt more like a viper kissing a mouse before swallowing it to digest the poor little bastard.

"I have to show you your dress. We'll need to have it altered. I wasn't certain how it would fit around your hips. Oh, of course, you have to pick out the rings with me. It has to be a princess cut. It'll go perfectly."

"…With the dress…?" Reid prepared himself.

"No, with these." He pulled out a box, eyes enlarged. Reid didn't motion to take the box which seemed to upset Tim. Reading the man's facial features as they darkened, Reid quickly snatched the box.

"Uh, thank you… I thought you were going to open it to show me." His hands shook as he opened a pair of 2 carat princess-cut diamond earrings.

"Go ahead, put them on." He smiled, Reid looked on in horror.

"My ears aren't pierced, Tim."

"Put. Them. On."

Reid closed the box. "I can't." Tim backhanded him across the bottom line of his jaw, careful not to hit his face, but definitely forceful enough to faze and bruise Reid. Eyes rolling halfway back behind his lids, Reid barely registered Tim getting the box and taking out both earrings. He took the first earring and forced Reid's face further toward the left exposing his right ear.

Manually, Tim pierced Reid's ear with the back of the earring, Reid clenched his teeth as one hand clawed at the sheets, he could feel fiery warm fluid spilling from his ear and could only gather he was bleeding. Tim forced his head to the other side and repeated the process. Now finished, and given the desired results, Tim stepped back to marvel at the look.

"Well, besides a bit of a mess, they look fantastic. I'll clean that up. How do you like them?"

Reid's hand came to his ear, more feeling for blood than the additional weight of the stones, but he knew what he had to say to make this bit of torture cease. "They're…wonderful. Do you…have a mirror so I can…see them on me?"

What Tim heard was a request to see himself and marvel at Tim's gift-giving. What Reid heard was him asking Tim to leave the room immediately so he could howl in pain and get the tears out of his eyes before the man became more belligerent.

"After we get you cleaned up, I'll show you the dress. You'll try it on, won't you?"

Reid swallowed thickly, "Yeah…yeah, of course, uh, you know I can't do that with you in the room, right? It's…bad luck."

"Don't pretend to be superstitious. It's cute that you're trying to be coy, but I'm too excited for that. Of course, I'll give you privacy to change, when you take off your clothes put them in that hamper." He gestured, "I'll have them cleaned and returned to you by time the fitting is over. I won't have you dirty and filthy in our lovely home."

"…Of, yes, of course Tim." Reid's lips quivered; he fought to keep the whimper in the back of his throat, and with that, Tim seemed satisfied enough to leave. The second the door clicked shut, Reid curled into himself holding his ears and whimpering in ungodly amounts of pain. How the hell did people do this to themselves, and more than that, twice? The tears stained the sheets as did streaks of his blood. He was pretty sure ears weren't supposed to bleed when pierced. His fingers slipped too much to even try to fiddle with the too-heavy studs. Using his forearm to swipe at the tears, Reid put his game-face on when the door clicked back open, and Tim approached with a strange lacy, white dress.

"You like it, don't you? Just imagine it on!" He extended his arm outside the door and pulled in a full-length mirror with a hanging-bar attached. "It's Oleg Cassini, and there's a lace jacket to go over it, too, but first, you should try the dress on. I'll have the seamstress bring them in."

Reid's very sore ears perked at the phrase. "Please excuse me. I'll get changed, and uh…put my dirty clothes in the hamper."

Tim smiled. "Perfect. I think this is the best fit for you. It's a little nontraditional, which fits our romance, but it still is timely and beautiful, again, just like our relationship. The cut is called mermaid. It will show off your narrow hips and your bust."

Each phrase made the day get worse and worse, and Reid had already seen two people dead.

The door clicked shut, a lock slid into place. It surprised Reid that his hearing had become hyper-acute, but was certain the pain had something to do with it. More blood flow to the region, extra power to the engines, or in this case nerves which were also on full alert, though the pain receptors worked the hardest as far as Reid was concerned.

He took several deep breaths prepping himself. He had to get this over with. He took two more breaths and started to change out of his button-up vest and dress shirt. Within ten minutes, he had very carefully gotten the dress on without getting his blood on it. He could only imagine the fury that would unleash, and so far, the torture had been tame. Reid didn't want to see it go wild. Georgia would never be far enough from his memories to want that. Just like what Cyrus had done to Prentiss, he knew those memories were ingrained now.

He felt a droplet of blood roll off the side of his ear and onto his shoulder, it burned hotter than boiling water. Reid quickly used his sock to wipe it clean and hoped the blood would congeal soon. He heard a soft knocking at the door.

"Uh, hold on, I'm almost ready." He tossed the sock back into the hamper. "Ready."

A little, old Spanish lady came in with Tim. Tim smiled as he looked at Spencer in awe. "Fantastic! I knew it."

Reid looked at the mirror, he had no idea what the fascination was with these things. They were gaudy, large, and with the best of luck, only worn once for anything important.

He felt very exposed with how the center of his hips bulged outward with his manhood, especially with how that might trigger Tim. He didn't even realize he was consciously covering himself, damn defense mechanisms.

Tim approached, drawing the old woman closer, Tim told her in an authoritative tone what Reid could best translate as, "Hacer esta parte aquí al ras." _Make this part here flush._ His hand waved in front of Reid's crotch, gripping him, which got him a strangled gasp.

He smiled, "Don't worry, love. I'll take care of _that_ problem." He looked back to the old woman who didn't seem slightly frazzled by the man in the wedding dress bleeding. "Agregue un poco de relleno aquí para ayudar a llenar la copa de tamaño. Pequeña B." Reid struggled to translate it when he spoke so quickly, but thought it was along the lines of: _Add some padding here to help fill out the cup-size. Small B._

"Sí, señor."

Reid constantly watched the woman and Tim, hoping Tim would somehow get distracted at one point and give him a moment alone with the woman.

"Tim, who, uh, who's going to do my laundry? You do realize my unmentionables are in there, right? A little old lady really shouldn't have her hands in that, do you think?"

Time smiled, "Of course not, I'll take care of that, my darling Spencer. I'll do that now. You just sit tight as she takes your measurements."

Reid nodded, "Right. Thank you."

"Not at all, dear," He kissed Reid's hairline before gathering the hamper and leaving. The door closed, but there was no click this time.

In thirteen seconds, Reid hoped his sentence carried the meaning he wanted it to, "Por favor, señora, usted tiene que decirle al FBI que Spencer Reid se llevará a cabo siempre que sea por favor! Por favor!" _Please, ma'am, you have to tell the FBI Spencer Reid is wherever this is, please! Please!_ Reid immediately looked away disinterestedly when Tim entered the room.

Without batting an eyelash at Reid, the woman continued to take in, pin, and mark up the dress as per recommendations from Tim and the fit on Reid. She handed Reid the lace jacket, Reid put it on and she began pinning it too. Tim left the room to process the laundry through, and Reid took the time to address the woman, still pleading with her to go to the FBI and tell them where he was.

True to his word, Tim returned Reid's clothes just as the seamstress put in the last few pins and started to help Reid out of the dress. Tim didn't excuse himself as Reid stripped down though, instead he approached as the little old woman left with her prizes.

Tim shoved Reid onto the bed. The young agent's eyes went wide, easily expecting this to escalate into much worse than it already was.

A probing hand began to grapple his manhood and make him shrink back.

"Before the wedding, I'm going to have to fix this. I'll make you a good and proper wife. I'll make us work, Spencer. I love you that much that I'd do that for you." His crushing weight atop of Reid, Tim sagged his forehead into Reid's injured shoulder unapologetically. "All I do is for you."

He began kissing Reid then, and that was when it went from bad to worse. Reid spotted the knife.

"Tim, what are you doing with that? You don't want to hurt me, remember, you love me…so put the knife down…oh please god, _Tim_! Put the knife down!"

"It's alright. I have some of your blood on hand for the surgery."

Reid recalled the wound in his shoulder, the non-surgical grade thread, the ether and could only think of what horrors he'd be inflicted with if Tim proceeded with this 'surgery'.

"I just want to lay with you for a while. I just want to hear your heartbeat a little longer before things change between us." He fiddled with the knife, "I also want to play a little. You'll let me, won't you? We are betrothed."

Reid shuttered. If he said no, there was a very immediate threat of what Tim would choose to do, "…You don't think that's too whorish of me, do you?" Reid's voice shook as he said it, as did his body. How could it not?

TBC.


	6. Chapter 6 by HalfBrokenMoon

XXX

**Part 6:** (by Half_Broken_Moon)

Hotch gently strokes the bumps of his cell phone and checked the screen to find many numbers being crowded together inside the glowing device. Most of them were from the other agents, police officers, and his team. Only one number came from Jessica's house where Jack was unaware of the typical dangerous cases his father was involved with. No, this one wasn't typical. It was Hotch's other nightmare.

Hotch glanced up and caught Morgan's sympathetic eyes flash towards him. The glint of emotions couldn't be covered by the bright flashing lights of the police cars that beamed at them. Morgan quirks up a tight smile as if that was enough to reassure Aaron that everything was going to fine. The muscular agent knew better than to try and comfort the always cool and calm Aaron Hotchner even if it appeared that Hotch was, indeed, cool and calm. Morgan also knew that inside the suited man was the same hurricane that whirled in their stomachs-more so, even.

A quick nod toward Morgan was enough for the two to get back to their tasks. There wasn't any time to lose to worry about each other, right now. Reid was where their wracked minds should be focused on.

A quick sigh escaped his mouth, and he checked his phone again. Garcia was probably busy looking at the store surveillance tapes back at headquarters. She promised if she found something at all that she would ring him, post haste. That was two hours ago. Two hours too long.

Hotch locked his phone and felt that his presence was more useful where the slain agent was. The profile of this man was already well in the developing stages but what if there was something else that could lead him to Reid? Just when he pocketed the phone, it began to ring. Somehow he knew that Garcia finally came through.

XXX

Reid shuttered. If he said no, there was a very immediate threat of what Tim would choose to do, "You don't think that's too whorish of me, do you?" Reid's voice shook as he said it, as did his body. How could it not?

Tim paused entirely with his knife barely inches away from Reid's side. He took a moment to stare into Reid's wide eyes and a creepy smile crawled onto his face like the word itself was amusing. "It's not whorish when it's with me, my love."

"B-but, I'm tired and wouldn't it be much better when I rest a little bit? I'll have more energy to um…please you," Reid pushed a tiny smile, his brain spinning, hoping Tim would take the bait. "I want to do my best to please you."

"Really?" Tim bit down his own lips with expectation. Glee and excitement of Reid's promises ran down all over his body. His little, future bride, ready and willing. Things were perfect; he was perfect.

"Yes, really," Reid reached for the hand that held the knife limply. He caressed his knuckles as light as a feather with hope that Tim would believe his words so he can have enough time to collect himself and find a way out. All Reid wanted was time.

Reid faked a large yawn and then propped his head onto Tim's shoulder to prove his point. Tim placed the knife on the counter, and then gently pushed Reid on the bed. "Go to sleep then my love. I expect you to be ready in the morning."

"Okay," Reid sighed inwardly as he rubbed his eyes sleepily. Maybe when he gets out he'll get nominated for an Oscar, he thought to himself. "Good night."

It was now late at night and the incident with the knife was only a few hours ago. The lights were turned off, and Reid was a little more than annoyed that it was going to be harder to find any evidence or means of escape in the dark. His contacts were dry, and the man who called himself 'Tim' was busy making some kind of arrangements with that woman from before. Reid could barely make out these strange black straps hanging from the bedposts. He touched them, and they felt like raw-hide leather to his displeasure.

Why didn't he listen to Hotch and get that laser surgery he suggested once-okay, six times. Reid scrunched up a bundle of the comforter when he thought of Hotch for the millionth time that night. He will find him, again. He always did.

"Oh, that looks nice!" Tim exuberantly complimented the handy work of his so-called help, sometimes switching between Spanish and English when he felt like it. His voiced muffled through the thin walls of the room, and Reid could barely make out the regular pitch of his voice when Tim spoke. That wedding dress must be close to finished, all tailored and stain free.

Reid hissed at the memory of the drops of blood that escaped from his earlobes freely. The bleeding had stopped, but both his ears burned like they were dipped in hot water for too long. He grabbed both of his ears with those damn earrings still attached. His fingers weren't focused on the jewels but the swelling and the warmth emanating from them. At least it kept him from scratching his eyes.

"Heh," Reid scoffed at himself and the stupid, silly thoughts about his minor inconveniences. His brain was doing a bang up job of coping with the fact that there was a mad man outside that wanted take him as his wife, and then probably kill Reid for something minute and stupid.

_I've got to focus._

"Amazing," Tim's muffled voice interrupted his thoughts, again. "Un momento." One moment, Reid thought.

Heavy footsteps were approaching Reid's designated room. Reid clung to the hem of the comforter and swung it rapidly over his body as he tossed his body back to the mattress. He shut his eyes and relaxed his form as best as he could to give the illusion that he was in peaceful sleep.

Tim slowly opened the door as it creaked dreadfully loud. Silent eyes stared at Reid's resting form. Even with his eyes shut, Reid can feel Tim's intense eyes scanning over him carefully, taking in every detail of his shape on the bed, every deep breath rising then sinking, the way the light of the hallway streaked across the giant bed. In only a couple of minutes, Reid felt Tim climb onto the bed with him, eyes still fixed on him with great concentration. Reid was thankful that he was facing the other way so that Tim would be less likely to see through his act.

"Shh, shh," Tim gently brushed Reid's soft hair over and over with soft hands. "Shhh…."

Reid resisted the urge to twitch every time those fingers made contact with his short curls and wanted to push him away when they made their way onto his cheeks.

"You look more angelic than usual," Tim whispered, hot breath in his ear. "Soon, I'll save you. I'll save you, and we'll live the way we were meant to."

Tim spotted the earring shine, and he chuckled under his breath in amusement. He stopped stroking Reid's cheek and made his fingers to the earlobes, pinching them and tinkered with the shining jewels, causing his already pained ears to bleed once again. Reid forced every inch of his body not to react, and prayed that Tim would just leave him alone.

_Aaron, _Reid thought, as the image of his boyfriend's face flashes across his eyes. _That's right, I have to keep calm. Calm…_

Tim gave Reid a quick peck on his cheek then pushed his body up to slide off of the bed. The man strode to the door with a shark-like grin and a fire in his eyes. He spun around to look at his prize, once again.

A light clicking noise of the door being shut was Reid's cue to break his act.

"Oh, god," Reid breathed out harshly, his trembling hands rubbing his face trying to calm himself as best as he could. Reid could feel his stomach churn like a cement mixer knowing that he was lucky that Tim hadn't done anything worse to Reid while he was in captivity. Though, how could he easily forget about the murders and the abduction earlier that day?

Reid had to have his plan B in case that woman didn't send his message.

"Bien!" Tim spoke again from outside the room. "Gracias señora." Reid translated before he could stop himself, Good. Thank you ma'am.

Reid leaned closer to the door and heard two sets of footsteps grow fainter and fainter. They were leaving. Tim was taking a chance to leave him alone to send the poor woman away. To where? He hoped it wasn't to her death. The car door shut, and the engine signaled Reid to sprint out of the bed and to run to the door.

Locked. Just as he figured.

"Okay," Reid huffed as he scanned the plain white, ordinary door up and down. He could probably kick it down. Now, how did Morgan kick the door again?

"Figure out the door type." Reid's fingers probed the material. Forming a clawed fist, he knocked on it rapidly with his knuckles. "Solid wood, right…Focus below the door knob and stand sideways. Use your dominant foot…hmmm," Reid turned his body sideways and focused on his target area. The door sounded like it was normal thickness, but with no idea what the density was, he had to make an educated guess at this. That, and hope Morgan's instructions didn't lead him wrong, and his body wasn't too weak for this kind of thing. "Hit with the heel, and keep your base leg firm…"

"Wah!" Reid slammed his foot firmly, mirroring Morgan's actions almost exactly. Almost exactly, meaning that the door didn't fall over to the ground. He kicked again and again, but the door wasn't flimsy. Tim probably installed a solid oak door in lieu of his arrival. Reid slammed his hand at the door out of frustration and cursed slightly. He was still stuck, with no way out, and now his ankle was probably swollen.

XXX

"Any new evidence, Garcia?" Hotch hovered over the genius techie like a vulture. Garcia clacked away at her keyboard feeling a little crowded, but all those little annoyances didn't matter at the moment. Reid was in trouble, and Garcia was trying to do her best to comfort her boss while hunting for anything that could save the genius' life.

"Sir, the cameras were all blacked out with what looks like spray paint. The frustrating thing is that half of them didn't even work. You'd be surprised how many cameras at shopping centers aren't recording… Anyway," Garcia stopped her frantic typing and looked up at her boss. Hotch backed away a little and put on his stoic boss mask as if she didn't catch his panicked face. She did. "Rossi called me when the abduction happened and, well, he asked me to look through the coffee shop, book store, and subway cameras, too."

_When was this happening? _Hotch thought to himself. It would be likely around the time of lockdown. Hotch stiffened at Rossi's order to spy at Reid's usual stops of the day. Not that they would find Hotch there, not at all. Once or twice in the coffee shop while both had a friendly co-worker chit chat wasn't too farfetched. It's all fine, there was nothing to worry about when it came to their 'work outings'.

"Did you find anything?" Hotch asked calmly but stern, his posture straight and firm.

Garcia bit her ruby bottom lip subconsciously when she returned back to her screens. "We had Kevin and another tech analyst look the tapes over, and it didn't take us long to find a suspect."

Three screens sprung up to reveal the three locations of the coffee shop, the book store, and the subway. "It took us a while to find Reid's usual pattern."

Hotch glared at the screen. He's going to have to have a word about schedules and patterns with Reid, again. The young agent knew the risks, but when it came to his favorite things, he was stubborn as a mule.

"As you can see, there wasn't anything suspicious at the coffee shop and the bookstore," Garcia pointed two manicured fingers towards the screens. "But, Kevin found something spooky about the subway."

"What do you mean?" Hotch leaned closer to see Reid standing for his train to come by. He was oblivious to the world around him and solely focused on what he was speed-reading. Just a book with one hand and holding a coffee with the other. Hotch felt his chest ache at Reid acting so normal, so very Reid, and that image would be the image he would want to always remember. Hotch snapped out of those thoughts he'd been finding difficult to push away and focused on the screen once more.

"There are sixty passengers that get off the train at the same stop as Reid. All of them get off, only one passenger in particular takes Reid's route at the same time and leaves at the same station and then gets back on a different train uptown thirty minutes later. At first it just seems like simple coincidence, that he missed his stop, but check this out: I pulled up last week's recording-same thing. Same with the week before that, too. No one's that clumsy, sir." Garcia squeezed her pencil with the fuzzy top until her knuckles turned white. "Sir, the grid has nothing on this guy. He's completely clean, and all I have is his name and nothing relevant."

Hotch nodded, "Good job, Garcia. We have somewhere to start. That's something."

The agent diverted his eyes from Reid's figure to the man Garcia deemed as a spooky man. Though he was still far from being labeled as a real suspect, there was something about him that just didn't seem quite right. At first glance, he didn't stand out of a crowd of confident suits going to the office, but on closer inspection, his suit was well tailored, if Hotch had to admit it. He still looked like he belonged, but of course, if he hadn't, then he'd have been easy to identify.

XXX

5:30 AM

Reid finished examining the only picture that hung on the wall. It was of Tim, of course. That narcissist. It was an old, color photo of Tim only a few years ago. He had his hair neatly brushed, and he was clean-shaven, but not groomed within an inch of his life. The expression in the photo looked rather normal. Just a regular guy with regular dreams and a regular job would be the impression you would get out of it. The one thing that made you rethink the normalcy would be the Westwood suit known for being a little extreme.

"My mother took that picture."

Reid jumped a little and his heart skipped a beat at Tim's voice. Tim quirked his head to the photo and flashed a pleased smile. "Admiring my photo weren't you dear? How very sweet of you."

"Um… Yeah I was," Reid feigned a small happy smile. "How old were you when you took the picture?"

"About your age," Tim strutted confidently to Reid's hunched-over figure on the bed. "Lets try on the dress, again. Okay?" The man placed a light hand on Reid's thigh. Reid smiled wider to counteract the nervous twitch he'd been suppressing for some time now.

"Where's the dress?" Reid asked innocently.

Tim got up and walked out to get the dress without at word. Reid twitched his eyes, letting out that urge before it got him in deep trouble.

"I'm glad I paid extra for this dress," Tim returned, freely holding the dress in the hanger with his fingers. "Take your clothes off, please."

Reid nodded and slowly took his clothes off. Brown irises glancing every now and again, studying Tim's reaction to him dressing down. As he thought it would happen, Tim's eyes were glowing like a kid in a candy store. Reid had to test his limits with this man to see which buttons he could push, which buttons to stay away from.

"Put on the dress," Tim presented the dress, with hunger in his voice. Reid slowly nodded as he reached out for it then slid into the dress. The young agent was trying to keep the bile from rising in his throat and hide his disgust. He replaced it with a mask of calm submission.

Tim sat back on the bed, his face now blank and aloof, observing the enhanced curves the white dress fabricated. "Turn around."

Reid turned slowly and winced when he felt a sharp pain on his ankle.

"How did you hurt your foot?" Tim asked as he leaned forward and laced his fingers together. His eyes scrutinizing and cold.

"I tripped on the way to the bathroom," Reid chuckled. "You know how clumsy I am."

"Right," Tim got up and reached for Reid's chin, pulling it closer to his face. "Women are clumsy creatures."

"Yes, yes, very clumsy," Reid nodded rapidly. "Is the dress okay?"

"It's perfect," Tim let go of his chin and used that same hand to gently stroke Reid's high cheekbone. "I knew something was a little off with the door. I thought you tried to escape while I was gone, but that's silly right?" Tim laughed tauntingly.

"Very silly," Reid gave him a tight smile. "I would never want to leave you. Never."

"I wonder what caused it," Tim glared at Reid like he knew what he had done, why the door was in the state it was, now, and that he was, indeed, lying to him. His hands latched onto Reid's arms and squeezed them tight enough to raise bruises. Reid flinched at the pain, and he felt panic rise in his chest. The man's burning eyes were no more and were replaced with dark spiteful eyes. His grip tightening harder and harder until it was more than the genius could bear. He could easily just pull down and dislocate Reid's shoulders with that kind of power. There was only one thing Reid could do.

"Ugh, Tim," Reid leaned his head forward and brushed his lips lightly on Tim's own. Then he went for the full-on kiss, hoping to make the man relax, and he seemed to be succeeding. Tim's shoulders and arms slumped down, and his hand settled on Reid's thin hips. The kiss lasted for a minute, and Reid was thankful to whichever god made his plan work. Now, his arms weren't at risk of being useless. His ankle was another story.

"Now, take that dress off, and let's get ready for breakfast," He said in his more familiar, less angry and demented voice proving Tim was back to normal. Reid inwardly sighed in relief and nodded in agreement. Tim smiled cheerfully and began stroking Reid's bruised arms gently. "I'll get your clothes."

XXX

Morgan rubbed his eyes as he flopped down on his desk chair. He hadn't slept since the night before last and the adrenaline that had kept him from dropping to the ground like a narcoleptic was fading. The guilt and disappointment that he had let his body give in to exhaustion just for a little bit ate at him, but first, he had to go grab a few things before he went to recharge.

"Morgan! Honey! Quick, quick," Garcia ran down towards Morgan with little steps because of her high heals. She looked ridiculous, but the urgency in her face told a different story. Morgan got out of his chair and met her halfway.

"What is it, baby girl? Did you find anything?"

"No, not exactly, but. Oh, um… Have you seen Emily? I need someone who's fluent in Spanish," Garcia sighed. "This lady came in earlier, and she doesn't speak English. Just because of my last name someone assumed I was fluent and well… they kind of dumped her on me." She waved her hands freely in the air, frustrated and annoyed. "I can't reach Emily. Can you look for-"

"What's wrong?" Prentiss walked in with her jacket draped over her arm. She furrowed her brow at the two, one panicking and the other ready to fall down like a giant piece of lumber.

"Oh, thank god," Garcia grabbed Emily's arm and led her away from the bullpen. "There's this lady who keeps repeating, el muchacho flaco con un loco or something. I need you to translate so I can get back to hunting down that bastard who took my junior G-man."

Prentiss froze and her eyes grew wide as saucers. "Penelope, muchacho flaco means skinny young man in Spanish," she paused. "Hurry! She might know something about Reid."

All three agents ran towards Garcia's office like a stampede, and upon their arrival, saw an elderly Hispanic woman wringing her hands together repeatedly. Wrinkled eyes shining with worry.

"Excúseme señora, Excuse me ma'am" Prentiss put a gentle hand on the woman's shoulders and led her one of the free seats. "Mi amigo dijo que usted mencionó a un hombre flaco con un hombre loco. ¿Puede usted contarme completamente la historia? My friend said that you mentioned a skinny man with a crazy man. Can you tell me the fully story?"

"Si," The woman nodded firmly, "Este hombre me contrató para caber un vestido para alguien. Él me ofreció buen dinero, sobre mil dólares. Yo no tenía ninguna opción pero tomar el dinero. Él me llevó a su casa y parecía una casa normal. Todo parecía muy bien hasta…" The woman looked down at the ground and hesitated.

"This man hired her to fit a dress for someone. He offered good money, over a thousand dollars, so she had no choice but to take it. So he took her to his house; it looked like a normal house. Everything seemed fine until… Por favor dígame más, please tell me more," Emily softly encouraged, translating to the others as she went.

"En el cuarto de baño allí era un hombre flaco. Demasiado flaco. Él sangraba de sus oídos y él me pedía venir aquí en español quebrado. Yo tenía miedo del hombre loco, el hombre que me contrató. Yo no dice cualquier cosa porque él estaba cercano cerca. Cuando acabado el vestido el hombre me condujo casero y apenas izquierdo como normal."

"Well, in the bathroom there was a skinny man. Too skinny. He was bleeding from his ears, and he was begging her to come here in broken Spanish. She was afraid of the crazy man. She didn't say anything because he was close by. When she was finished, the man drove her home and eft like normal. ¿Cómo era el hombre flaco? What did the skinny man look like?"

"Era muy alto. Seis pies de alto, ojeras en los ojos y el pelo castaño y corto. Estoy segura de que sus ojos eran marrones." The woman animated her arms to try and fully describe Reid with her hands.

"He was very tall. Six feet tall, dark circles, and short brown hair. She's sure his eyes were brown," Prentiss nodded firmly at her and asked, "¿Recuerdas dónde está este lugar? Do you remember where this place is?"

"No, lo siento, me vendaron los ojos," the woman answered.

"No, she's sorry, he blindfolded her_._" Prentiss frowned deeply but pressed on, "¿Recuerdas algo extraño? Como el sonido de las vías del tren? Un olor extraño? Algo inusual? Do you remember anything strange? Like the sound of railroad tracks? A strange smell? Anything unusual?"

"Si," The woman clapped her hands together. "Lo que sí recuerdo muy fuerte suena cuando llegué allí. Como un gran auge en el cielo. Un avión."

"She does remember very loud sounds when she got there. Like a large boom in the sky. An airplane, maybe. ¿Cuánto tiempo cree usted que el viaje en coche desde el lugar de tu casa? ¿Dónde vives? How long do you think the car ride was from the place to your house? Where do you live?" Prentiss asked.

"Treinta minutos más o menos. Yo vivo cerca. Cinco minutos al sur."

"Thirty or so minutes. She lives nearby actually. Five minutes south. Bien," Prentiss grinned. She snapped her head towards Garcia. "Garcia. Look for any airports thirty minutes away from here. And cross examine any suspects you found earlier on the surveillance tapes."

"I'm on it, boss lady," Garcia saluted Prentiss.

"I'll call Hotch. Morgan, can you get someone else to translate? See if we can get any more information for her, er, sorry what's your name, ma'am?"

"Corina Mendez."

"Señora Méndez gracias por tu ayuda. Usted podría haber salvado a nuestro amigo. ¿Necesitas algo? Mrs. Mendez, thank you for your help. You might have saved our friend. Do you need anything?"

Mrs. Mendez glanced at Morgan and then winked, "¿Qué tal algo de este hombre caliente?"

_How about some of this hot man?_ What Prentiss didn't translate caused her to snicker into her hand while Morgan eyed her suspiciously. "What did she say?"

"Nothing. Lets get to work, okay?"

TBC.


	7. Chapter 7 by Vanessa S Quest

**Part 7:** (by Vanessa S. Quest)

Reid had grown used to the routine: take off his clothes, put them in a basket for Tim to tend to, Tim would be outside, he'd return with something different to try on, he'd be finished with dress-up, tell him to change out of it, return his clothes and give him some privacy. That developed routine had been a farce, Reid realized glumly as he now stood before Tim in full view.

His voice was small, wavering as he addressed the issue, "T…Tim…? My clothes…?"

"You know, as love birds, it's normal to start the day off with love making. You don't object now that you're fully rested, do you, love?" The sound in his voice, that hair-trigger to explosive rage, Reid's shoulders tensed. He knew putting it off wasn't going to be an easy feat this second time.

"Tim, don't we need our strength and stamina to talk about the wedding arrangements? You haven't told me who you're inviting, and you haven't asked who I want to invite. It's like you aren't serious about _us_." Reid said, and instead of shrinking behind the bed or to the nearest corner, Reid took soft steps towards the man knowing this was not a dance he could trifle with. "Besides that, god decrees that a man shall only take his wife to bed. His wife, Tim. We're not married, yet. Even with how much we love each other, we have to wait. It's god's _law_, Tim; his law."

Tim smiled. "Of course, you're right. I'm just getting anxious. I was afraid you'd have cold feet." He looked purposefully at Reid's slightly swollen right ankle.

"I told you, I tripped in the dark looking for the bathroom." Reid defended. "I promise at the reception I'll be much more graceful. I'll practice. We should practice dancing together. We haven't done that, you know."

Tim tilted Reid's jaw upward, a jerking force that turned into a gentle caress. Reid wasn't sure which part was worse to deal with, the seeming cruelty or the seeming intimacy.

"You're right, of course." He kissed Reid's nose, the agent forced himself to not flinch. "God's law is very important. But, I can think of a loophole or two." His finger thumped onto Reid's nose after his lips left it. "Get on the bed. I swear we won't break a one of God's laws."

Reid swallowed thickly. "Tim…what…what are you thinking?" The fear in his eyes set the man off, and Reid cursed himself for not compartmentalizing better.

"Woman, obey me! Get on the fucking bed!" A fast fist landed fiercely into Reid's diaphragm sending him reeling back.

"Ngh," several racking, hacking coughs came out of Reid before he even fully fathomed he was being pinned under Tim's knees. His eyes darted across the room, cataloging it all. Tim was in here, so far, Reid hadn't seen him lock anything, but with blurring contacts, sedatives and the dark, Reid hadn't had much confidence in that. Now that he lie pinned onto a bed, though, hands touching him in ways that left trails of fire and sickening sensations, he was certain Tim only locked the door when he was gone.

Reid's head buzzed, his earlobes were filled with burrowing, stinging insects and fire, not diamonds that Tim promised were still there. Tim's fingers twisted the earrings a little to adjust the cut of the stones, making them lie parallel with the ground if Reid had been standing.

_Do something. Think! _Reid coached himself, unsure of what reaction he'd get if he pushed, but then again he wasn't even sure what Tim was about to do now, so could it really get much worse? He shivered. Oh, it could, and he knew it.

"Cold darling? Don't worry. I'll warm you up."

Reid was never more thankful that goose-bumps occurred from both being cold and disgusted as he did at that moment. Because if Tim realized that he wasn't even slightly invested in his fantasy, Reid could be mailed back to his mother in little boxes. He believed that fully, though he was certain Hotch would have the good taste to stop the mail from reaching her.

Manicured, firm hands traversed up and down Reid's stomach, chest, abdomen and inner thighs. One hand began sneaking behind to his ass which made him buck upward.

"Tim, for not having sex, that's a bit much!"

Tim winked, "It's not sex. It's sex toys. Well, actually, it's purification." His voice went from whimsical as a person getting what he wants to suddenly very dark and upset. "I understand that before you knew me you didn't know to wait for true love, but the fact that you violated God's law…it's almost unforgivable!"

"God forgives everything, Tim. You have to believe that!" Reid said, tears in his eyes, not because he felt how he lived was wrong by any means, but because he was certain Tim would kill him if he failed his expectations. How quick would Charles Henkel or Raphael have been to pull the trigger if they had known Reid's sexual orientation?

"He does with proper penance." He smiled. Again, his voice had that jubilance that Reid knew could only end badly for him. He pulled out what looked like a six inch long…plug, and Reid supposed that was exactly what it was, too. Inside it was a one-way valve, and Reid grew nervous just looking at the creepy firmly-formed phallus. Tim's right hand parted Reid's trembling legs approaching the folds in his cheeks, completely surpassing his penis without so much as a sideward glance.

He began to put pressure on the heel of the plug, the tip resting on Reid's sphincter, and it gave in slow motion. The friction without the benefits of lubricant was shuttering and awful, by the time he was two inches in, Reid was sure he was bleeding. By time Tim increased the force to jam it in, he knew if he hadn't been bleeding when he thought so, he would be now. That sinking feeling was followed by a physical parallel as the plug sunk deeper into him, this time with less force, until the tapered end of the plug fit snugly around his sphincter and flush with his ass cheeks. He wasn't too sure that the sensation could get worse until he recalled the one-way valve.

Tim watched Reid's face contort in pain from the pressure and stretching, offering gentle kisses and pets as if that would help any. Reid's own mouth-breathing made him reluctant to say anything to counter it though, since it would only get worse if he fought it.

_Confrontation, do that, and you're as good as dead. A pre-violent, fantasy rapist won't fully lash out until the fantasy is disrupted, but if you ruin it for them, they won't have anywhere else to vent but you._

He vaguely recalled Elle saying that to him while they were playing out a case inside a victim's home. The dead woman had been in the bathtub when she was murdered. Reid had the luxury of being a genius, but it didn't take that much to get why he remembered that now.

In his own musings, if he could recall such a dark reflection as something so pleasant, Reid had failed to witness Tim attach a hose and bulb to a canter and another hose that came from that canter into the one-way valve. This was immediately rectified when Tim pumped four times creating a pressure gradient and forcing liquid inside him.

His eyes shot wide; his back arched.

"How many people have you slept with?"

His mind couldn't process the stretching and the words, so it defaulted on the stretching. Tim squeezed the bulb twice more adding to that pressure when he was convinced Reid was ignoring him.

"Answer me!" He glared fiercely, "This is penance, if you don't do it right, you'll be damned. Is that what you want?"

Reid swallowed, "But you'll judge me." He knew the nomination was in the bag with that comment. "I don't want you to judge me."

"I'm not…I…" It was strange to see him startled like that, like somewhere inside there had once been a genuine, wholesome, good person. Damn Reid hated sociopaths for being able to do that.

"You promise you won't be mad?" He flinched an eye shut, squinted so he could watch, from what he could see, it was working. "Two men. I was young and stupid," Well, that wasn't true, not in any sense. The first way it was a lie-Reid had only ever had sex with one man, and that had been Hotch. The other instances of youthful indiscretions had been kept to mutual jerk-offs or blow jobs, always with rubbers. Reid had never been stupid in anything in his life, oblivious, maybe, but never stupid.

He wished Hotch was here, wished the man could stop this, or at least ease him through it, but simultaneously he was afraid what would happen if that pure romance was tainted. He knew it was unrealistic, and naïve even, to think like that. Hotch understood things, he was more grown-up than Reid ever could pretend to be by reading books or dealing with his mentally unwell mother. Just because he dressed like one didn't make him an adult, and moments like this screamed that to him. How many grown men don't notice stalkers? How many?

"How long were you with them?"

Reid bit his lip, "Does that really matter?"

"Of course it does!"

He swallowed. Tim pumped two more times adding even more pressure. "The first man, on and off, for about two years. It was physical. We didn't love each other, not like this, not like when you really love a person."

He hadn't lied that time; he just hadn't been talking about Tim.

"The second man, we've had sex a little under a year," Reid recalled. That's right. Next month, he and Hotch have been sleeping together for a year. Of course the mixed messages, the not-a-date dates, the casual making out sessions, that was closer to three years. Reid cursed himself for being stupid after all.

If he puts a neat timeline on it, it made sense why Hotch scheduled that dinner date and looked slightly disappointed at Reid's almost careless approach to the date about four months back. But it had been a rough week, and Hotch forgave him. That sort of forgiveness, that sort of repent was what really mattered. Not some mad man's take…

…Reid realized how dangerous that sort of thought was while still in a mad man's clutches, but the absolved look on Reid's face made Tim seem to relax.

"I think it's working. Just to be sure though…" Tim opened the canter's top and took out a vial. "Be still, this is acid, I'd hate to burn you."

Reid's eyes grew into plates at the mentions of such a thing.

"What! But…but you said…!"

"Just in case, it's just a little, 0.01 moles hydrochloric acid, to purify. God is mighty, but he isn't a disinfectant, darling."

Reid's body stuttered as the drops of concentrated HCl added into about a liter's worth of distilled water. As the new concoction was pumped into him, he near-instantly felt the swirl with a wave of pain. At first, it was just the additional pressure, but as the time crawled on, thirty minutes, the burning was becoming much more pronounced.

XXX

Prentiss looked through the glass doors of the BAU office at the old lady as the woman honed in on Morgan despite the distance. The man was getting her a coffee while Prentiss briefed Hotch about the details.

"Garcia's running a search for potential areas. As soon as she has that, Sir, I'd like to work on the geographical profile." She paused, studying the look on Hotch's face. "I know Reid normally does this, and I know there's no way mine will be as comprehensive or excluding, but we have to try. Agent Rossi is reviewing Reid's notes, and we may even be able to pin down a neighborhood based on affluence, demographic, and areas. Also, I spoke with the witness about the layout of the house. Morgan said that it sounds like a Mar del Plata home. There can't be many of those in any given neighborhood. It should be easily discerned if we can nail down an area to canvas. What do you think?"

"What's Morgan working on right now, then?"

"He's keeping the witness occupied. She's taken to him."

"Alright, let me know when you have something."

"Absolutely, and Hotch?"

He didn't reply verbally, but as he looked up from the crime scene photos of the shoe store to capture her eyes briefly, she knew this was her moment.

"We're going to find him. Reid's not a quitter, he'll survive this."

"I know. Thank you."

XXX

Despite his squirming, Reid couldn't gain more ground on Tim. As the pit of his abdomen began to cramp, forcing him flat and still in retching levels of agony, his eyes sheen with a layer of tears not ready to pass over the lower eyelids. Tim pulled Reid into his arms and deposited him in the bathtub before pulling the plug out.

As blood, water, and acid mixed the pH petered toward a more neutral level, the only searing pain now residing inside Reid's bowels was where the acid had been left to play for so long. Reid collapsed into the wall, unable to support his own weight on his legs after such a painful ordeal.

Tim helped him keep his footing, if Reid even considered it helpful. The pain was too much to keep up the façade of pleasantries.

"God forgives, acid disinfects." Tim smiled as if he just coined the next greatest cleaning campaign slogan.

Forcing himself to stiffen, he gives Tim a fierce look, "You know, I can clean up after myself."

"Oh, I believe you, but I wouldn't want you tripping in the bathroom. What would you do if you hurt your other ankle? Hmm, dear?"

Reid bit back a string of accurate, cruel things to say to the man, never being one to be mean, or foolish enough to wish for his own expedited death. Reid tolerated the man's further scrutiny of his aching body. By the time the hot water had grown cooler, Reid was barely conscious despite his standing stature.

Tim turned the shower off, "I should get you into your pajamas and back to bed."

Between the tired glare Reid shot the man, his mind just not allowing him enough focus to be more attentive to the needs for delicacy, Tim nudged Reid. "Don't give me those sultry bedroom eyes. We have to wait, remember?"

That goofy jovialness made Reid want to physically punch the man. But it was not like he could let go of the wall and hope to stand, let alone swing his fist to make contact. Reid slumped toward him, not seeing another way out of the shower. The man happily carried his fiancée to the bridal suite before laying Reid gently on top of the covers.

"I'll be right back." He mentioned, and as far as Reid was concerned, he was. He had hoped that he'd return with his real clothes, not that ugly fucking wedding dress. Oh, and a slip, by the looks of it, Reid noted as he leaned up to study Tim.

Tim laid the wedding gown flat against a dresser before pulling Reid upright to put the slip over him. The fundamental flaw being that the small thing, while it covered his shoulders, stopped an inch after the bottom of his hips leaving very little to the imagination. He wondered how many hours ago it had been since the little, old lady had come by. Did she even contact the team? Was she dead? It wasn't past Tim to kill a potential witness. Tim pulled the dress on over the slip, leaving it bustled at Reid's chest.

Reid felt a cotton fabric wrap around his wrists then, baffling him slightly, until the tightening sensation of belts brought him back to full attention.

"T-Tim! What are you doing?" He turned his head to the left to spot one fastened restraint over his left wrist, his right arm pinned in similar styles.

"You kept talking about the wedding. I'm so excited you aren't getting cold feet about it, but I'm afraid you'll think of those other men. I know you probably compare me to the others, but you shouldn't. I'll take far better care of you than anyone else ever could. I'm looking out for your _soul_." He tightened the belt around Reid's right wrist, "Spencer, darling, I think we should elope right away. We'll have a reception when we get back of course. Maybe we'll even head to Las Vegas and visit your parents."

Reid's heart clenched at the thought of Tim even knowing where his mother lived, let alone the audacity that he'd try to visit her.

"I bet they're lovely. Your mom probably taught you how to cook and clean and be the perfect little housewife. Oh, not that I'd keep you from your passions of study, it's fine if you want to keep well-educated, I'd be bored if conversation turned dull, but I make enough to be the breadwinner here."

Tim latched Reid's left ankle to the leather restraint, clipping the right restraint down immediately afterwards without any extra care to the swollen site as he made sure to fasten it just as tightly.

"I want you to have sweet dreams during the surgery. Think about where you want to go for our honeymoon, how many children we should have…"

Reid's eyes narrowed, the additional dimensions of his own doom hit him as to his own impending sense of dread. As Tim brought closer a needle that looked like it belonged to the 1940s filled with a green-tinged liquid, Reid felt a pinch and then felt nothing as the liquid left the barrel and filled his far-too-accustomed vein in his left elbow.

XXX

"_Spencer, have I ever told you the story of Blue Beard?"_

"_Is that a pirate, mom?"_

"_No dear, your father is talking about an asinine fairytale asserting male morality and patriarchy over young, foolish wives."_

"_Diana, you asked me to read to him and now you're upset about my reading choice? It's a fairy tale, it's normal for 3 year olds to hear fairytales, not everything can be Beowulf! Besides, there are morals in these stories."_

"_About oppressing women!"_

_Will rolled his eyes, "Spencer, get in bed. I'm reading your bedtime story tonight. In a large castle with large ornate doors everywhere, there was one room with a small, moderate door. It's lock wasn't hard to force, but the woman who lived there wouldn't need to force it to open it. For she had the key to every room, even the room she was told to never go into…"_

"_Why is the story called Blue Beard if it's about a woman?"_

"_Because the woman, while she lived in the castle, didn't own it. Her new husband did, and he brought her there after marrying her. He wooed her with his charms and graces, and even though he was disfigured by his unsightly blue beard, she still loved him. She didn't know better, but the truth was in that room, the truth to all of his wives before her…"_

"_Oh my god, William! A 3 year old shouldn't hear of a serial murderer before BED! Are you trying to give him nightmares until he's thirty?"_

"_He's a little boy, Diana, it's not…"_

XXX

Reid's eyes fluttered, slowly he cracked them open to spot Tim wielding a scalpel that Reid had probably used in high school eighteen years ago, and even then the damned thing wouldn't be new. So this was it? They weren't going to make it in time to save him.

Reid's head rolled to the right, he wasn't sure he wanted to be conscious for his own death. His left hand flopped onto the restraint, his middle finger traced over the belt prong, teasing him, as if he could get out of four of these damn things!

Tim pressed the blade to Reid's skin then slowly, so slowly started to scrape upward from the center of Reid's legs up toward his navel. Almost instantly, Reid's eyes regained clarity as he imagined just what Tim was doing. The bustled lace at his chest and the too-poofy bottom of the mermaid-cut dress was enough to eclipse Reid's vision of what Tim was doing, but that was a two-way street, wasn't it?

He couldn't give up now. He had to at least try, "Tim, tell me about yourself. Did you take off work for our honeymoon? How long can we make the trip?"

Bait, he had to bait and then switch. He had to. He had to while the man was focusing on other parts than his hands. The other 'surgical tools' were to his left. He had to work the left hand. Iit was much more important than the right at the moment.

His middle finger trembled as Reid tried to force the finger to slide toward his wrist millimeters at a time. He used his thumb and pointer to coax the strap looser until he finally got the prong eased from the notch and could force the belt to open up more, flicking his wrist casually to expand upon it.

As Reid was almost ready to slip his left hand free there was a jarring bang from outside, then there was white-hot pain. Tim's hand must have slipped, Reid thought to himself. His thighs quivered as the shutter of pain raked over him once again. He wondered if he'd need a tetanus shot thanks to this.

Tim stood from the bed-side. "Oh goodness! What is all this racket? How can I concentrate…"

"Tim, you should see what that was. I'm scared." Reid begged. He begged because he truly was scared, but not of the noise outside. He was afraid for his life of the madman he was trapped in a room with.

"You're right. A man's job is to protect his wife and his home." He pulled the wedding dress lower across Reid allowing it to sit properly instead of bunched up around Reid's chest. "Darling, I'll be right back. Everything will be fine. I promise."

"I know it will be," Reid whispers, more in prayer to anyone who might still be listening upstairs. The tremble in his body continued to frustrate the loose grip his middle finger had on the belt prong as he continued to force it to undulate and rub the belt over to the next hurdle freeing more space as it went. He gave a probative tug on the strap, this time his thumb almost slid through the opening. Two more loops and he'd have one hand free. He had to get Tim out of the room. He halted his ministrations on the belt to give Tim a pleading, coy look, channeling every bit of pale flower in the dark woods he could think of to evoke an urge to protect from the psychopathic man.

"D…Do you think it's a burglar? Or maybe it's a wild animal?" Reid hated that he was potentially arming Tim to get the man out the door, but he knew the urgency in his own pleading would get him OUT of it enough to cope with how it was done.

Tim set down the equipment, "No, I'm sure it's just the wind. I'll go check, so don't fret. I love you, darling."

Reid's eyes locked with his, "I-I love you, too… Now please, find out what that sound is!"

He tore his head to face the direction of the door. Tim leaned over Reid and kissed his lips chastely. "Ok, I'll take care of it. I'll be right back."

Tim padded out of the room, closing the door soundly. Reid waited for the click, but didn't hear it. Did he really leave the lock off? Reid corrected his own thinking, did he really NEED to lock it? For all Tim knew, Reid was strapped to the bed unable to get up. Reid got his left hand free forcing it with a hard three pulls then undid his right restraint and reached for the blades to his side before diving toward his feet to get them freed as well.

He ignored the pooling red in the center of the dress, almost happy to tarnish the damned thing except that it was his blood. The small razor-thin gash had done a good job pulling up blood, but the distinctly superficial pulse was nothing to the aching throb stemming from his perforated bowels. He wondered if his 'penance' would put him in the hospital for peritonitis, and even that thought thrilled him-to get out of here and get to help. It had been two days too long in the whack-job's home. Two weeks too long of dealing with the clearly psychotic man, and Reid just couldn't take the strain of this much longer.

He'd get to help then he'd call Hotch, no matter what, and then he'd pass out. He'd sleep for days knowing it was over. He made that promise to himself to will himself physically out of the bed despite board cracking rakes of pain as he moved his pelvis from flat and horizontal to bent over and upright then back to also flat and upright.

The past two days without water, the only meal being puffer fish, the fatigue, the blood loss, it all hit him as he stood, but that wouldn't stop him now that he was so close to escaping. Stumbling was completely expected between the unknown anesthetic, desiccated contact lenses-itch and all, and purpling ankle, Reid managed to fumble to the door Tim had exited from. Collapsing his weight into it, he forced it to slide open another few inches.

The door had to weigh a hundred pounds, no wonder he couldn't dropkick it open! Reid thought bitterly as he pressed onward. The place was dark, but what he could see were several potential hiding places which was very convenient since he heard Tim approaching from down the hall.

Reid tucked into a deep looking closet. To think as a grown man he'd have to resort to hiding in one made him moderately upset, but he wasn't going to be bending over into any odd shapes at the moment, nor was he up to climbing anything, and he sure as hell wasn't going to blend in behind anything with a white dress on.

The telltale slamming of the door opening then closing jarred Reid from his drug-induced daze long enough to make him wonder if it really had just been the wind, or had the others found where he was? Inching along the back of the wall, Reid burrowed deeper into the closet moving behind as much clutter as possible to avoid detection.

"Honey…where are you sweet heart? I told you I'd take care of it. It was the wind. Now come out wherever you're hiding before I get mad…" Tim started.

Reid bit the bottom of his lip to keep in the wince as he moved too sharply. How long could he really effectively even hide in here? Had anyone ever told Reid he'd be in this situation, while he might not actually disbelieve the chances, he would have never predicted he'd have the ability to fall asleep.

The cocktail of drugs, pain, and blood loss did him in, though. Reid fell asleep pressed against a wall to keep his back straight and pain minimized.

As the door gently cracked open, letting soft, white light into it, Reid had quickly reacted, hands thrusting forward, blades and all as he tried to push off the wall and past the shadowy figure before him.

Arms wrapped tightly around him, controlling his movements, deflating them, "Shh, hey, hey it's alright! It's me, it's _me_."

TBC.


	8. Chapter 8 by HalfBrokenMoon

**Part 8:** (by Half_Broken_Moon)

"Shh, hey, hey, it's alright! It's me; it's me!"

Strong familiar arms held him in place, firm, possessive. Reid squirmed helplessly in this embrace. Every fiber of strength zapped from his aching body with only a small sliver left to hold him together. "Please," Reid croaked. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Spencer-"

Reid continued, "I wanted to see if you were okay!" Tears streaked down his face through his clenched eyes.

"Reid!"

With heavy lids, Reid fluttered them open. He couldn't stare at his face, but he recognized the same softness of the fabric, the smell of detergent tickling his nose, the way it crinkled as it moved. God, why did he remember all of that? Not that it mattered to Reid because as soon as he felt comforted by these senses they were quickly wiped away by the march of heavy footsteps milling around the room and the pain centered at his hips swelled again.

"A-Aaron." Reid clutched at his stomach, and his knees buckled under what little weight he possessed. Hotch clung tighter and watched as Reid fell further into his embrace, quaking in his arms. A quick and ruthless stabbing feeling went straight into his chest when the shivering wouldn't cease.

"Medic!" Hotch called out. Reid released a barely audible sigh that left Hotch relieved, if only a little.

"Aaron," Reid mumbled again.

"Hold on, the technician is on his way."

"W-what?" Reid flopped his head to the side. Everything was slightly muffled, and his head swam in circles. Suddenly, he felt another pair of hands hold him from behind, and Reid screamed as if his skin was on fire. "S-Stop!" Reid shrieked and held tighter onto Hotch. "Don't touch me!"

"Should we cut that off him, sir?" The medic asked, noticing the blood pooled in the front and recognizing the potential evidence there.

"No! You can't! He'll kill me if you cut it!"

"Cover him up as much as you can," Hotch glanced at the technician's eyes and both understood immediately what each was thinking. "Sir, you can lie him down. My partner is bringing the stretcher over, if that's alright?"

Hotch nodded once and lowered Reid's body gingerly onto the carpet, trying not to focus on Reid's whimpers and cries, but on comforting him and keeping him safe. "Spencer, you're going to have to go with the technician. He's going to take care of you."

Reid moaned, one hand now clinging to Hotch's sleeve, not willing to leave the only comfort in the world he has. "I don't want to go without you!"

"Sir, you can accompany him on the way to the hospital," the technician said. Hotch shook his head regrettably, and the technician took it as a cue to have Reid's body lifted from the carpeted ground onto the stretcher. Hotch winced as he saw two fat droplets of fresh blood being slowly absorbed by the cream colored carpet. He quickly reached for Reid's pale, cold hand and squeezed.

"I'll see you very soon, Spencer," Hotch said softly as if any other sound louder than a whisper might break the fragile man. "Wait for me in the hospital."

Reid just stared, confused and dazed. He grew more tired than he had ever been. The young genius didn't know what to make out of everything at this point. Even the reason as to why he was being pulled into the ambulance was at a loss. "Goodbye," Reid simply said.

Hotch smiled a thin white smile and he squeezed Reid's hand, again. He wasn't ready to say goodbye, yet.

After Reid finally was driven away, Morgan approached Hotch with a little bit of hesitation. "Hotch? We searched the house, but that son-of-a-bitch isn't in here. We have people doing a search outside." Hotch exhaled and realized that he might have been holding his breath for a ridiculous amount of time.

"Let's go canvas the block."

He chose not to acknowledge the look his agent shot him begging the question, 'Why is Reid riding alone?'

XXX

Mary turned on the gas stove and lowered the flames carefully. She placed the kettle on top and hummed a cheery little tune. Her guest was waiting in the living room, and for once she was happy that she was able to get to speak to one of the neighbors. Everyone always accused her of being too shy. She used to worry if she would end up feeling a little isolated again like in her previous neighborhood. Today, she was in luck as a young, handsome neighbor popped in for a favor. She tucked a strand of sandy blond hair behind her ear and smiled. "I put the kettle on. I would offer you coffee but… well, I'm allergic to it, so I never keep it around."

"That's fine," Tim leaned back on the couch and placed one leg on top of the other. Mary blushed slightly when she noticed the glowing outline one of her lamps cast on him, showing off his handsome features. "Sorry about the break in. I heard this was a safe neighborhood."

"Even the safest neighborhoods aren't immune to a little mischief," Tim quirked a smile and gave Mary an amused glance. "Thank you for letting me stay the night. The police are taking up every inch of my house."

"No problem, um…excuse me. What's your name, again? I'm sorry; I have trouble remembering things."

"That's fine. It's William, but you can call me Will, if you'd like."

"Okay," Mary straightened her posture slightly. "It's nice to finally make friends with the neighbors. Please, make yourself at home. I'll get your bed ready. Oh, and your tea."

"Thank you," Tim turned and looked outside the window. Red and blue lights dimly lit through the glass. "Oh well."

XXX

It was now close to noon, and the search had spread further. Even Anderson was out there, still a little shaken, but determined to look for the kidnapper. Hotch walked through the perfectly trimmed lawn and acknowledged Anderson's presence with a nod. Anderson nodded back and went back to gathering information from the forensics team.

Prentiss stood from where the spot Reid was found, and the two drops of blood had since dried. She removed her gloves and her brow furrowed. "I'm going to murder that sicko," she announced. It was no surprise that Prentiss already formulated what she believed to have happened to Reid. The surgical equipment, the restraints, all that crimson bunched in the center of that white dress.

"Not if I get to him first. Where's Morgan?"

"He's with Rossi joining the search," The brunette twisted side to side, scanning the entire room. "From what we gathered, this bastard has been preparing for this. Meticulously. No wonder he escaped so easily."

"If it weren't for the witness then who knows what would have happened."

"Hotch," Prentiss placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed it a little. "We're all here for both of you. Please, go to the hospital, and we'll take care of this."

Hotch sternly looked back at her, "Call Morgan and tell him I'll join him on his search."

Prentiss sighed and retracted her hand from his shoulder. "Stubborn."

Hotch exited the house after he spotted the dried blood on the carpet again for the sixth time in a few, short minutes. He hated how it invaded his thoughts, mockingly, like the unsub himself was looking right at him in those two pin-prick splotches. The quicker he could find that monster, the quicker he'd be able to get to Reid's bedside and do what he's supposed to be doing. He already failed to protect him once, he refused to do it again. He refused!

Anderson jogged towards Hotch and huffed out a breath. "Ah, Agent Hotchner. We found a room filled with boxes of DVDs in the basement. We'll send them to headquarters as soon as possible."

"Anderson, you didn't have to report that to me. You should head back to your team," Hotch was a little annoyed with the agent, but at the same time, touched by his determination.

"I already asked for permission from my unit chief. He said it was fine."

"Good. Can you give a once over of the neighborhood again? Maybe one of the neighbors has returned home and might have some valuable information."

"Right," Anderson perked up and rushed over to the next door neighbor's house.

Hotch scratched his head and answered an incoming call from Morgan.

XXX

Anderson knocked at the fifth house, already. So far, two of the neighbors returned, but hadn't really given him any bit of useful information. One of them mentioned that a new neighbor had moved in a few weeks ago and has been walking her dog all around the block every day, suggesting that she might have seen something.

Nobody had answered, yet, and it didn't seem like anyone was moving around in the house. Anderson knocked, again, and again, nothing. He sighed deeply, ready to turn to leave, but something caught his peripheral. A deep, muddy footprint right in front of one of the bedroom windows. The next door neighbors mentioned earlier that the woman lived by herself and was never seen with anyone else. The lonely car in the driveway seemed to confirm their statement.

Anderson shrugged his shoulders and walked calmly back to his car as if he didn't find anything of importance, just in case the perp was watching. One of the curtains moved slightly, and that was enough for Anderson to reach for his phone.

It took two minutes for Hotch to rush over with the remaining team, minus Garcia, right behind him. "Are you sure there is someone in the house?"

"Yes," Anderson affirmed. Hotch and Morgan headed straight for the door coolly like they were there for routine questionings. The other two were in the van for standby.

"FBI. We need to ask you some questions," Hotch announced loudly.

To everyone's surprise, the door slowly opened, and a young woman with blonde hair peeked through the door. "Hello," she spoke shyly.

"I'm S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner. May we ask you a few questions?"

The girl's light brown orbs flitted all along Hotch's form and gave the unit chief a weak smile. "I'm sorry," she coughed weakly. "Urgh. Sorry, I don't want to get you all sick."

"That's okay. We'll be careful," Hotch said gently.

The young woman stood there thoughtfully and shifted her weight a little. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Ma'am is everything alright?"

"I uh," her lips quivered and her eyes glossed over with tears. 'Help me' she mouthed out silently. Hotch gripped his gun and nodded to her quietly. He ordered Morgan and Prentiss to go around the house while he stayed behind with Rossi. The young woman pointedly looked her side signaling that the man was right behind her.

"I'm sorry for taking your time. I hope you feel better," Hotch said as he gave the young woman another signal to stay calm. She nodded her head. "Um thank you sir. I'm sorry I couldn't help you in your investigation."

"That's alright. We'll be on our way then."

She closed the door, and immediately, they heard the signal that Prentiss and Morgan were already inside the house through their earpieces.

"Put the knife down!" Morgan shouted, and Hotch knew it was time to go in. Hotch kicked down the door, and he hissed a little. This was going to cost him sometime early tomorrow morning. Maybe Morgan's door kicking lessons needed to be reevaluated.

"Put the knife down, and step away from her," Prentiss calmly, but firmly ordered. She was stalking around the room almost cat-like then stationed herself in front of the woman to protect her.

Hotch could almost taste the outrage and the thirst for vengeance in the air, all of his agents were willing to dish it out. He had to restrain himself from jumping over to the man and outright murdering him.

Tim held his hands in the air and gave Hotch a wicked smirk. "Oh, it's you."

"I would be more than happy to shoot you right now, but my job requires me not to," Hotch aims straight at Tim's chest. Tim only raises one brow at him, curious and fascinated at the weapon.

"He loves me, y'know," Tim tuts at Hotch and points his knife straight at him. "Me. You can even ask him."

Hotch felt the anger rise up that this bastard was acting like a spoiled child, taunting and grating his teachers. Tim still held the knife in his hand and moved it around like a toy, feeling all too comfortable holding it in his grubby hands. "You can just shoot me, you know. I just have a knife and all of you are flinging your guns at me. Not much of a fair fight."

"You have no right to decide what is fair," Hotch growled at Tim. "Drop the knife, and put your hands up."

Tim rolled his eyes but complied. He bent down and placed the knife on the ground, flashing Hotch a dirty look. As soon as the knife touched the carpet, Hotch and Morgan moved in and cuffed him. Tim, all too calmly letting them take control, acted as if this was just a normal part of his everyday routine. A couple of cop cars were already parked ready to take Tim away. Tim turned to Hotch and flashed a menacing grin. "Tell him to wait for me."

Hotch glared daggers at him, roughly grabbed his arm, then dragged him across the lawn with the fury of a wronged rhinoceros. Tim screamed as he squirmed and flailed his legs on the ground. "You're hurting me! You're hurting me!" Hotch didn't dignify the man with a response and he pushed him in the cop car then slammed the door shut.

XXX

It was hard to keep his weary eyes open when everything smelled of disinfectant and nothing but white attacked him visually. Hotch strode through the hallway to where Reid was being taken care of after hours of surgery. The list of Reid's injuries was unbearable to hear. The doctor explained to him as much as possible, but worse, even still, were the words he never wished to hear again. Penetration, massive bleeding, _corrosive acid_- for God's sake!

Hotch felt naïve thinking that Georgia was the large, violent storm that passed. Foolish, Hotch thought, stupid and ignorant.

"Is he out of surgery?" Penelope seemed to materialize from thin air. Hotch jumped a little.

"Yeah he's in recovery, but it's going to be a while until we get to see him."

"Oh," Penelope looked down at her feet, and Hotch relaxed his shoulders.

"You know what would cheer him up? If he had a few of books to read. You know how easily bored he gets while lying in the hospital bed," Hotch feigned a convincing smile. Penelope took that as good news and that the damage Reid took wasn't as bad as she thought. Of course, it was worse, but she didn't have to know that now. Reid would kill him if Hotch told anybody the truth.

"I'm on my way," the red head went for the quick hug. "I know which ones to get. Call me when he wakes up."

"I will," Hotch promised.

XXX

Reid felt a fuzzy, glowing feeling surround him, and it felt so right, but so heavy. Thinking his body had turned to lead over however long he was sleeping his dreamless sleep. The fuzzy and out of this world sensation didn't feel bad, just strange, pain in a way he never felt before. It existed, but it was so far away it didn't matter to even think about it. "W-wha?"

"Hey, there," calloused fingers ran through his already tousled short curls. "I'm here. It's okay."

"Hotch?" Reid asked skeptically, unsure if this was all real. He closed his eyes shut for a few seconds before summoning up the courage to open them again. He expected to be back on that disgusting bed with that equally disgusting dress and an even more disgusting man. Reid rolled his head to the side, and his eyes met with Hotch's black tie. "I feel so weird."

"It's the anesthetic. I promise the doctors didn't use any other medication," Hotch said softly, still stroking his hair. Reid frowned knowing what that word 'medication' meant. The dread of what were in Tim's little 'experimentations' hit him hard. The possibility of becoming an addict again was too much to stand.

"I think it's too late for that." Reid glowered at Hotch's tie. "You know what's going to happen now…" He sniffled.

"I'll make sure it won't happen," Hotch assured Reid. "I'd fire your scrawny ass then feed you to the tigers."

"Tigers?"

"Jack is into Tigers now," Hotch chuckled as he saw Reid's confusion grow deeper. Reid sucked his lips in and paused to think.

"You'd fire me? That's really mean."

More silence fell between the two, both lost in their thoughts of what's going to happen next and how they were going to manage with this new hurdle. Reid winced as he shifted in his bed, and Hotch fussed over him, panicking about his stitches and warning him about moving around too much. Reid frowned deeper when he realized that Hotch already knew the full extent of his injuries. He never felt so vulnerable and utterly ashamed of himself.

"Hotch," Reid's voice strained when he called his name. "I'm sorry."

Even when the nurses and the doctors told him what he should expect Reid would say after waking up, it was entirely different actually hearing it. "It's not your fault. It never was."

Reid turned his head away from Hotch's because it was the only movement his body could manage without having it falling apart like an old doll with its limbs sewn haphazardly together. Hotch stopped brushing his hair and decided to place his hand on the railing of the bed.

"Do the others know?" Reid asked out of the blue.

Hotch shook his head, forgetting Reid wasn't making the effort to give him any eye contact. As to be expected, if he was Reid right now, the last thing he'd want to be staring at would be his doting lover hovering over him. "No." _But they're going to find out eventually. They always do_. Hotch thought to himself.

Reid snapped his head back towards him. "They're going to find out sooner or later."

"Right," Hotch couldn't stop himself from smirking. "I have a stack of books courtesy of Garcia. Do you want to read a few or rest for a little while?"

"I'm still a little tired," Reid mumbled. "Everything is still so…fuzzy."

"You don't have your contacts on."

"Oh. I forgot," Reid sighed. "I'm still tired."

XXX

The first nightmare came soon after. Hotch remembered sleeping in the room in one of the world's most uncomfortable chairs then being startled by the sound of frantic screaming. Frightened, Hotch found himself rushing to Reid's side to hold his hand. "Spencer," he hushed.

Reid moaned and cried, muttering nonsensical words Hotch wished to hear. "Spencer," Hotch shook Reid gently. "Wake up; you're having a nightmare."

To his relief, Reid snapped his eyes open and wildly looked around the room, zooming as if tracking a fly in the air. "He's here," Reid whispered. "He's here. I saw him."

Hotch sighed softly. "He's not here. He's locked away. Okay?"

"No," Reid's breathing became more erratic, his skin growing paler. "I saw him. I'm sure."

"Do you want me to put a guard outside your door?" Hotch asked.

"Can you do that?" Reid looked up at Hotch's face for the first time that day. Hotch was taken aback at how frightened these usually wise and youthful brown eyes were. All of what he knew was hidden away by that fear.

"Sure." Hotch waited until Reid fell back to sleep before pulling out his phone to call Morgan. Two hours later, Reid's sentinel had arrived and set up perch, face unshaven, coffee cooling, but still able to casually shoot Reid a smile every time he felt the brown eyes sway towards his direction and the door.

XXX

The day Reid was discharged from the hospital, he was still understandably weak, and the doctors put him on a strict diet. It unnerved Hotch how much skinnier Reid looked. His liquid diet was part of the cause, but Reid's usual lack of appetite had grown worse. Hotch had to remind him all the time to at least drink something. Reid would glare at him but obeyed him anyway.

The fourth nightmare Hotch remembered was on Reid's first night out of the hospital and at Hotch's house. Like hell he would let Reid stay alone in his apartment, even with Tim locked away! Reid was adamant to sleep on the couch because of some silly excuse. It was something about guilt over having Hotch sleep on the hospital chair or something for three days. Hotch couldn't quite remember what it was. Either way, it was still a silly excuse, and there was no point in making it up. 'Tell me the real reason' Hotch wanted to ask, but if Reid wasn't ready to talk then he couldn't force the young man to do it.

So Reid took over the couch. The young man made it crystal clear that Hotch was not to try to sleep on the floor, so he begrudgingly slept in his bed until the door cracked open.

"Daddy," Jack pulled on Hotch's sleeve. His small voice tired, "Daddy, Spencer is scared. Can I read him a story?"

Hotch reached over and ruffled his son's sandy blonde hair. "That's okay, Jack. I'll go check on him. You go to bed. You have school tomorrow."

Jack nodded, still a little worried and scared himself. "He can borrow my penguin," Jack placed the stuffed penguin on Hotch's lap and smiled. Hotch chuckled to himself as he picked it up and squeezed the stuffed toy in his hand. He guessed tigers were out and penguins were now in. "Go to sleep, Jack. Don't worry."

"Okay, daddy," Jack smiled then ran back to his room.

Hotch tiptoed from his bedroom and quietly made his way to the couch. Jack wasn't wrong when he said that Spencer was scared. He wasn't screaming like he was in the hospital, but still distressed, tears flowing from his eyes and sweat glistening on his face.

Hotch sat next to Reid and stared at him a little bit. Reid had become more jumpy, as of late, and would immediately pull away from any contact only to apologize about it later. He stole a breath before shaking Reid's shoulder.

"Come on Spencer, time to wake up."

Hotch hadn't been able to dodge it-a blur of white came to his periphery so quickly that by the time he registered it, he was already half-bent at the waist clutching his eye. Spencer had just punched him in the eye! "Ow, damn it that hurt, Spencer!" He rubbed his sore skin around his right eye.

"Spencer," Hotch leaned in closer over him so he could hear. "Wake up. It's me, Aaron."

"Hmm," Reid scrunched up his face. Not quite ready to snap out of his dream.

"Spencer," Hotch said a little louder. Reid stirred and opened his eyes to see Hotch looking down at him. The fear of his eyes disappeared and was replaced with relief.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Hotch asked groggily.

Reid took a moment to think about it, but objected. "I'm fine. What… what happened to your eye?"

"You did. It's alright, I'm not mad. Lesson learned." Hotch smiled a little bit, wrinkling the side of his mouth. "Take the penguin," Hotch put the stuffed animal on Reid's side. Reid frowned down at it, not sure what to make of it suddenly appearing out of the blue. "Jack is worried."

"Oh," Reid shifted his body from under the covers a little.

"Go back to sleep; I'll keep watch," Hotch said.

"You don't have to."

"I'm going to," Hotch said with a hint of determination.

Reid knew not to argue, especially around three in the morning and in front of the penguin. The damn thing made him feel guilty for waking Jack up. Mocking him at how stupid and weak he was. Reid sighed at how silly that sounded in his head. He looked back at Hotch as if suddenly realizing what Hotch had said, "Oh my God, I hit you?"

Hotch remembered the fourth nightmare best because with it brought about an even worse one. For the last four days, Reid had completely refused to sleep.

By the end of day four, Hotch had come to the point of hiding the coffee, half certain Reid would start talking about spider-mice running up walls with just how over-worked and over-exhausted the man was. And honestly, Hotch would happily take crazy talk over the alternative of the man just dropping, dead to the world. He didn't look to be too far from it as it were.

XXX

Day five of sleepless Reid came with a major dispute. Reid was marching around the house and packing his belongings as he apologized profusely to Hotch. Without coffee, Reid had taken to snapping at Hotch and whoever was crossing his path at the wrong time and place. Everyone except Jack, of course. Reid was very careful whenever the little boy would be present in the house.

Hotch hated to leave the house for any period of time, but after receiving an emergency call from Garcia, Hotch had left Jack to watch Reid, more than the other way around. After stepping outside, unsure of what the emergency would be and how any mentions of work might affect Reid in his fragile state, he felt the second sucker-punch that week. Timothy Johnson had been released on a five-hundred thousand dollar bail.

Coming from the Johnson family, that wasn't even a slap on the wrist. Pillar of the community Hotch's ass! With the excuse of going out to pick up some groceries for tomorrow, Hotch began the campaign of calling every DA office he had connections with in the area to find out what the hell caused justice to be so miscarried. He eventually caught wind that the prosecutor presenting the case was a second cousin of the defendant, and worse still, the judge was a personal friend of his mother's. For a good twelve minutes, Hotch only saw red. He couldn't take the time to keep his cover story up and actually buy groceries, so instead, he returned with the honest willingness to tell Reid the truth, but stepping inside the door that had obviously taken a back seat.

He could see Reid grabbing his belongings from where they fell around the house. In a pure state of panic, Hotch interrogated Reid as the younger man stormed around the house shooting off apologies and explanations. From what Hotch could gather, Reid had come close to yelling at Jack by dinner time.

Jack accidentally dropped his plate onto the kitchen floor. It shattered, and a shard cut the little boy's hand. Reid wasn't surprised that he wasn't crying because the little guy didn't notice the cut at all. Just like his father.

Reid panicked and took Jack to the bathroom. The cut wasn't deep so a little disinfectant and a band-aid was all Jack needed, but the rage in the pit of his stomach threatened to bubble up. "Jack!" was all Reid managed to say, but he shut his mouth tightly worried if he opened it again then he would end up saying something he'd regret. Jack only looked up curiously at Reid, wondering what that little outburst was about. Thankfully, the little boy didn't say anything but a thank you and walked away.

"I can't stay!" Reid shook a gray alumni T-shirt at Hotch. "I can't! I almost did something stupid today."

Hotch frowned, "But you didn't. I'll talk to Jack and tell him to be a little more careful. Okay? It's fine."

"No, it's not fine! I'm not fine, and I'm making everything a mess around here!" Reid threw the shirt down into his tattered suitcase and snapped it shut. "I feel bad enough that I'm yelling at you. I don't mean to…but…just let me go back to my place!"

"I'm just a burden to you," Hotch finished the last sentence Reid kept to himself. "I absolutely refuse. In fact, I forbid you to leave."

"You can't do that!" Reid spun around and flailed his arms up in the air, breath caught in the back of his throat he sputtered out a, "T-That's, that's, that's," he paused. "You can't!"

Hotch sighed, "I know, but I can try." The older man smiled a little to send Reid the message the he most certainly would try. Even if it meant getting another black eye. He didn't expect what came next, and for that he blamed his own fatigue. Normally he had much more tact. He watched as the emotions played over Reid's face from horrified at the idea of confinement to overwhelmed and exhausted to finally an explosion of anxiety and tears.

"I don't want to yell at Jack," Reid sat back down on the bed, sobbing. He covered his face with his long, thin hands.

"I'll send Jack to Jessica's for a while."

"No, it's not fair to him!" Reid uncovered his face and looked down at his suitcase. He cringed at the thought that rose inside his head. "I can't do this!" More tears fell down his face, "I'm just so tired…"

Hotch exhaled and sat next to Reid at a safe distance. "Shh, I'm here. I'm here, and I won't let anything happen to you. You know that."

Reid looked up at Hotch, again, and thought that was a ridiculous thing to say, but he let it go and reached for his hand for the first time since being found. He leaned against Hotch's shoulder and cried until he fell asleep.

TBC.


	9. Chapter 9 by Vanessa S Quest

**Part 9:** (by Vanessa S. Quest)

It felt like it had been a long, long time since Reid had woken up in such a state. The sun warm on his face peaking through curtains, landing their beams almost calculated over his closed eyes. His eyes shot wide, Hotch's living room had blinds, not curtains…

He turned his head left then right trying desperately to get his bearings. His contacts itched, shit did he fall asleep with them in? Wait, did he fall asleep? He spotted Hotch to his right, a protective arm curled around his waist and somehow it was terrifying just how _not _terrifying this sensation was.

Last time Hotch had touched him inadvertently, Reid had given him a shiner. He had felt so bad about it he had, probably foolishly, decided not to sleep until he could control himself more. That hair-brained move didn't actually work, did it?

Hotch, seeming to hear Reid thinking away, opened his eyes and looked at him. "Feel better now?"  
Reid looked at his legs, his back wasn't achy or sore, he wasn't cranky, he did in fact feel better, well, physically. But there was still a mind-numbing horror eating at him, every little thing comparing and contrasting, but mostly comparing in his head to what he endured for two days. Had it been longer?

He shot out of bed unable to take the ways things were folding over and overlapping each other, the sheets conspiring against him sent him sprawling to the floor with a hard clatter, and he immediately started to wince and reach a hand for his lower back. "Ah… ow… you tricked me! You were trying to…"

"…Get you to sleep? Reid, you fell asleep sitting up."

"You put me in a bed! I told you I had to sleep on the couch!"

Hotch reached an arm over to him only for Reid to look at it fearfully at first, he took a staggered breath. "You're _safe_ here."

"Oh yes, this place _screams_ safety to me." What Reid had meant by that had been the way the bedroom looked eerily familiar to his quarters of confinement, the limited escape routes, and the palpable sickening fear he could feel himself emitting being bounced back at him from the walls.

Hotch; however, heard the direct affront to what had happened to his last lover in the home. "You know I'd never let anyone… _ANYONE_ get to you here… I can't believe I'm showing you this…" Reid looked at him in confusion, still not realizing he'd somehow hurt Hotch let alone how or why, but he was happy to leave the bedroom. Hotch pulled him towards the stairs, and as more and more of Reid's senses returned he wondered if Hotch was literally about to throw him to the curb. He probably deserved to be shot on the way, he thought. Instead, he opened the storage closet that went underneath the stairs.

"Watch your head." Hotch mentioned, pushing coats to the side.

"What…what is this…?"

"It's a safe-room. If you go into here, you'll be safe." Hotch explained, "Jack knows about it, he knows about the emergency cell phone that if he calls me with I'll drop everything and come. There's a gun safe in here, too. He doesn't know about _that_. Combination is your birthday, my birthday, Jack's birthday. The day, not the month or year."

Reid looked at him strangely.

"The door locks from the inside, and there's a sliding hidden door so if you get in here before anyone sees, they wouldn't know you're in here. I built it after…well… I wanted Jack to know, and I mean to KNOW if he had to hide…"

Reid pulled Hotch into a hug, the first bit of intimacy for weeks, and then kissed him on the lips. His fingers shook a little as he did so, but Hotch missed that feeling. So much so that he burned the memory into his flesh before running his fingers through Reid's hair.

"I love you, and I won't let anything happen to you."

"How messed up of a life is mine when just seeing this makes me so happy?" Reid's embrace soon left the realm of romantic contact to a fearful cling as he buried his face in the nook of Hotch's neck. "Please don't leave me… I'm so pathetic, but I can't imagine life without you."

"That makes two of us." Hotch secretly confided within the closet before escorting Reid out, careful to guide Reid's head so the tall man didn't meet the same usual end as Hotch when he inspected the room.  
Lips met once more and it seemed like some magical charm, but the day almost started out normally, well… smoothly, calling hysterical sobs first thing in the morning for waking up in a bed 'normal' was just too damaging psychologically, even for as stoic of a person as Hotch. Normal never should have to be like that. Coping should never have to be this hard, but he'd still take progress in any form if it led Reid to being who he once was, especially if he kept Hotch in his life.

"I'll make breakfast," Hotch mentioned. "There's something… we have to talk about, and it's not pleasant."

Reid's body stiffened, unsure of what to make of that.

XXX

Hotch led Reid into the kitchen and sat him gingerly into a chair. Reid's fruit smoothy, about all the nutrients he was getting on the liquid diet, was rather easy to make thanks to Hotch's CuisineArt. Bananas, strawberries, a kiwi, coconut juice, grape, apple, and carrot juice too, went into the blend. As did two scoops of protein powder and antibiotics that Reid had to take but still couldn't risk doing so in a solid format. Twelve horse-pills in all went in before the blades made a whirring noise that made Reid shutter and imagine just what Tim would have done with his own blades.

As that thought hollowed out Reid's eyes, Hotch poured the concoction into a glass and sat it before Reid.

"All of it; I know it's not coffee…but you still have to get it all down."

Reid nodded, held his nose in a bit of a childish manner, and began to drink. Five large gulps and he stopped to do a heavy swallow, his throat apparently contacting something not smoothly blended in. He caught his breath and finished downing the slightly-more-than-half a glass left.

"Good. Reid, I'm so sorry."

Reid looked at him in confusion then budding terror. Hotch was going to leave him now, wasn't he? Tell him he was too emotionally damaged, too _physically_ damaged to love anymore…

Hotch put a hand over Reid's and squeezed, "The judge, he set bail, and he made it."

Reid blinked, and blinked, and blinked. It took a solid ten minutes of Reid blinking to finally realize that _that_ was the bad news. And oh, what horrible news! Once it dawned on Reid, he wrapped his arms around his stomach and rushed to the bathroom, Hotch silently cursing his own idiocy for telling Reid after breakfast, but he knew if he told him before he wouldn't eat either. All the same, he had to be told. This wasn't some bull-shit gossip, this was: Your stalker isn't in jail right now, know where your gun, ammo, and phone are at all times, and that location should be in your holster on your belt, and in your pocket, respectively.

The telltale retching sounds that came out of the bathroom were followed by wails of agony and pain, and then sorrowful, lamenting sobs also coupled with pain. Hotch tentatively pushed the door open to see Reid sobbing into the toilet.

"I made a mess…" He let out between sobs. "An' I think one of my stitches popped…" He touched the center of his shirt to peek at a little splotch of red.

"It's okay. It's going to be fine. He doesn't know where you are."

"How could they let him out?" Reid's eyes turned angry, something Hotch had never, ever seen. He'd seen drug-withdrawal eyes that almost looked like they could've been angry, but then there were these, here and now, and he knows full well that those were NOT angry eyes at all. These-these could set a man on fire, and then eat him with barbeque sauce.

"The judge and the prosecutor were hand-picked by his acquaintances, the defense attorney said we used excessive force, there was no just cause and that we gathered evidence illegally without a warrant."

"But I was IN the house, the act of a crime taking place means a lawful agent can enter to disrupt it if it's stopping an action from occurring…"

"That is true, and we can seize the evidence in THAT house. He wasn't arrested or even found in his house, though. He was found at a neighbor's house. He was holding a knife to her, but they got to her, they must have because she claimed she was making him tea and we broke into her house, assaulted her guest and… I'm sorry. I… I'm going to make sure that a real, unbiased judge sits on that bench for his trial and that he won't get away with this."

"I'd say he'd be in Europe by lunch…but that would just be a lie to make ME feel better. He's going to come after me again… Oh god, he's going to kill me! I took those damn earrings out…" Reid's hands went to his sore, swollen red earlobes, two dots marking where they had been forcibly pierced. They still felt like they were filled with fire-ants that were very pissed off at him.

Hotch pulled Reid into him, ignoring the man's wince at the motion and protest about the mess he was making of Hotch's shirt.

"Let's get you to the doctor's, have them look at your stitches and then we'll do something, rent some movies, stop at the library and pick up books… we'll stay in for the next few days, just relax, all three of us…"

"He's going to find out where you live, and if Jack's here…" Reid shook his head. Hotch's grip strengthened.

"You're not leaving. I can protect you here, this environment's controlled. If you want a personal guard…"

"That didn't turn out well last time." Reid said, refusing to address the issue further. "If he comes after me, I'd rather be in familiar territory this time. But what about Jack? Can you honestly say you'd want to risk putting him through that again, Aaron… Aaron there's no way…"

"There's no way I'm leaving you with anyone but me until that son of a bitch is in jail for the rest of his despicable life."

Reid bowed his face into the fabric of Hotch's shirt and refused to admit that he was crying. Not like Hotch would call him out on it.

XXX

Aaron Hotchner, as a casualty of work, had seen his fair share of jumpy survivors. He started to understand that what he saw within those tiny glimpses into the survivor's shattered life was nothing compared to the waking terror of living and breathing it 24/7.

And really, he should have known better, if not after how Georgia had been, than at least after Boston! Or even before all of that, when Gideon had matched wits with Bale and lost, but no, he failed to fully appreciate what he'd been through and put others through. Silently, as if he were paint on a wall, he was categorically ignored except for that air of, 'Oh, that's a nice color selection dear,' before the doctors directly spoke with Reid.

Flinching was an understatement. Reid flew off the examining table when the doctor had approached him with a needle in his hand. He had flailed which resulted in a nurse pinching down on his elbow to keep it open and not locked as the meaty soft center was poked in a very familiar way. His world fell silent and gray for the next two hours, Hotch keeping constant vigil, not leaving the room even for a moment as the medical staff re-dressed the wound.

"It isn't as bad as it looks." One of the staff assured, probably an intern because they were the sorts who'd say stupid things without grasping the weight of a situation. "It's very superficial, he only bled so much because of how skinny he is. Maybe malnourished, too. Is he getting enough vitamin K?"

"…Excuse me?" Hotch looked at the chatty staffer as if he'd grown a second head.

"Vitamin K."

If Reid had been awake, Hotch was sure, no, _Aaron_ was sure he'd have been given an explanation that vitamin K is a fat soluble vitamin only recently measured. That the vitamin helps clotting factors and thus reduces bleeding. He was certain Reid would tell him that and not make him look like an ass playing with his blackberry while his subordinate and lover was out like a light on an examining table no more than three feet away.

Maybe, if Reid had been less combative, they could have had that exchange; but instead, he had to deal with Dr. Google. While he was there he found two libraries, the closest Red Box and pharmacist, he just knew they'd try to give Reid some other pill or two to swallow.

He was only half right, it wound up being four prescriptions. Anti-anxiety, sedative, anti-inflammatory, and some supplemental for something or other to help Reid digest until his body was producing it naturally again, thanks to Dr. Google, he also added on his quite-literal grocery list fresh spinach. With that, Reid's sweet tooth would ache and cry just a bit more, he was certain.

He closed his own eyes for a moment and realized he would have to lift the coffee ban, maybe iced coffee smoothies would be a more realistic way to hide the horrible smelling (and probably tasting) protein powder.

Spencer came back around after being loaded into the car, sure he had staggered out of the exam room, but to actually come around it took breathing in the familiar air. His eyes started to scan the crowd and Aaron could see the thread pulse bounding along the line of his neck, his eyes dilating before he dove below the seat.

"Spencer!" He had said in worry, "Spencer, are you okay?"

"Shh! Shh! He's here, I saw him! He's outside of the car!" The panic was so evident that Hotch found himself sweeping the crowd with his eyes, but he wasn't there. In fact, the area was devoid of almost all life except for a group of three paramedics shooting the breeze by the back of their ambulance as one other paramedic restocked it.

"Spencer, he's not here. Look, _no one's_ here. Now sit up, that can't be comfortable for you." He coaxed, hoping that the younger man would submit to his logic.

"I want to go now…" Spencer said, eyes moist and beading at the edges as he slowly rocked himself.

"Of course, we'll go now, just, get your seat belt." Aaron leaned over when Spencer didn't reply. In a brief instance he could visually tell Spencer's eyes had grown before he had the buckle across his hip and chest, clicking the metal slab into the slot.

"He's there!" A fierce hand shot out to point to nothing, but to Spencer, the image was practically jumping on the hood of the car, "Oh god! Start the car, start the car, Aaron!"

"Spencer! Spencer, calm down! No one's there!" His own voice belayed his sense of calm he was trying to maintain, now almost as frantic trying to sooth his lover as his lover had become. "Okay, okay I'm starting the car, let's go."

Once the vehicle was in motion, and the overcast of sedatives seemed to waver, Spencer seemed oblivious to having even spoken up until that point as he glanced at Aaron.

"What library are we going to?"

"The one by your old apartment." Aaron had said softly, the statement confused Spencer a bit as he only had the one in DC and one in Quantico, but the one in Quantico was his current address and that looked to be where Aaron was heading. "That way we can get some of your stuff for your move-in."

Suddenly, what Aaron was saying clicked, old apartment was his way of saying Spencer was moving in…

He'd have been thrilled except for the sheer horror of going near that place. What if Tim was watching it now? Waiting…?

Spencer shook despite himself.

"He isn't there, Spencer. The whole area is swarming with uniformed officers and under-covers. And if that son of a bitch does show his face around there, he'll see them, because it's better if he thinks you're there versus where you're really staying. It's a bait-and-switch, Spencer, just like magic." He hoped adding that in would calm Spencer, and to his pleasant surprise it seemed to.

"You're probably right…" his voice went soft, almost too soft for Aaron to hear. When it did drop below what Aaron could hear, Spencer whispered, "I wonder how he's going to kill me…"

He casually glanced to Aaron who seemed unaware of what Spencer said at all.

XXX

Inside the library, Aaron had encouraged Spencer to pick up light reading, humor, non-fiction completely unaffiliated with work, things that would keep his mind far from the stressors that were wearing so heavily upon him. He could tell Spencer was muttering something to himself, but he couldn't make it out, assumed he was looking for book titles, and dragged him to the humor section.

Spencer's hand ghosted over the innumerous shelves before halting over the spine of a thin hard-cover book that looked more like a Victorian children's book than anything funny. The Gashlycrumb Tinies, Edward Gorey, Reid added that to his pile with a flicker of unease as he glanced back at Hotch, he went back to selecting other 'light' reading materials.

In the end, he still wound up with some literary classics; Jules Verne, H P Lovecraft, King Leer, and thanks to his connections at the library, the standard five-book limit was waved, and he carted out twenty, boyfriend helping with carrying the bags of books.

It wasn't until much later in the day, when Jack was lying down for his nap, that Aaron spotted Spencer sitting with his back to the wall, rocking as he silently lipped the story he was leafing through far slower than normal Reid-reading.

As he came closer, he learned Reid wasn't lipping it, he was whispering it, as if weighing each act to see how much it fit with what he knew and the likelihood of it.

"A is for Amy who fell down the stairs…" Reid paused, gave a tight nod, "possible, at least to start…" he flipped the page.

"B is for Basil assaulted by bears. No, definitely not, too hard to come by. C is for Clara who wasted away…" For a moment he was silent, thinking back to just how long he was stuck in that room without food or water, he decided that was impractical, Tim would likely be less patient for that death for him. "D is for Desmond thrown out of a sleigh. E is for Ernest who choked on a peach… maybe not a peach… would he smother me?"

Aaron came closer, catching the conversation Spencer was half-having with himself, sure the non-verbal answers were cued in his mind.

"F is for Fanny sucked dry by a leech. G is for George smothered by a Rug… maybe… maybe, H is for Hector done in by a Thug… he might hire someone, but then he'd probably want to do it himself…" Reid touched his ears, he stopped his fingers as he realized he just made a quarter turn with them, himself.

"I is for Ida-"

"REID!" Aaron called to his lover, reaching out as he realized what the soft muffling syllables were adding up to. The young man flipped the page quickly, two getting caught together as he forced himself to continue.

"…K, K is for Kate struck by an axe-"

"What the Hell are you reading?" Aaron's arm stopped halfway from hugging Reid and opted to grab and throw the book into a different corner.

"Hotch?" Spencer's eyes snapped back to attention, though a crazed light shone behind them. "What are you doing! I was reading that…"

"And now you aren't!" Aaron said strongly, pulling Spencer into his arms.

"But, but I have to know… if I don't prepare…"

"Prepare? Prepare for _what_?" Hotch felt disgusted by how fragile his own voice sounded then.

"He might strike me with an axe… he's going to kill me, don't you get it? He's going to come after me, he's going to find me, and he's going to try to kill me, and if I don't prepare myself he… he might…" Sobbing broke over sensible syllables, though in Aaron's opinion, sensible conversations stopped just after Spencer had finished his breakfast.

"He is not going to kill you; he's not going to come _NEAR_ you!"

"You don't _know_ that! He already bought his way out of jail… how many times, tell me, how many times did a violent defendant make bail and _not_ go after a witness or the victim after all your cases as a DA? Can you even think of five? …One?"

Aaron's fingers raked through Spencer's hair. "I am not going to let him get to you. I am not going to let that bastard put his hands on you ever again. I'm not even going to let him see you in the court room if I can help it. We're doing everything we can to make it so you wouldn't even have to testify. Garcia's pouring over the footage he had squirreled away in his lair."

"Footage…?" Spencer's head turned unnatural degrees to the right. "Of _who_? Oh my god, he was recording me in there…" Breathing hitched, for a moment, Spencer took to pounding on his own chest just to force himself to restart the breathing process. Gasping in pants and wheezing them out, he began to hyperventilate.

"No, no it's not of you, well… not from _there_." Aaron added softly, seriously debating telling Spencer this, "Deep breaths. Come on, breath deep."

"Not from _there_? Then from what? When he stalked me and I had no idea? Oh god, he does know where I live! He's going to follow the cookie-crumbs right back to here. Oh god… he… he's going to find mom… Mom, I haven't even explained why I didn't write her for days! I… I have to…"

"Sit down" whether it was a command, suggestion or request, Reid didn't know or care, he practically fell into the chair that Hotch had directed him into with his strong grasp, gentle but firm, unlike the perverse force Tim had used to 'guide' Spencer where he saw fit for him to stand.

Clearly over-stimulated, Aaron could see Spencer just start shutting down parts like a blown circuit, starting with the smaller ones working larger until that vacant, bleak expression covered every aspect of his face.

"Reid, I'm going to fix this. I swear- I'm going to keep you safe."

Spencer turned to look at Aaron after a long silence ate time between them. "I… I need to lay down for a little bit." Aaron nodded consent and helped his lover up the steps and to the bedroom. "…Can you…?"

"Stand guard?"He nodded twice to confirm, leaving the door slightly ajar to welcome Aaron into the room. "Of course."

XXX

It took watching Reid, curled tightly into a ball in the center of the bed for Hotch to realize he just couldn't leave this be any longer. Asleep, and the tears were still flowing in dueling rivers down pale cheeks forming pink pathways.

Taking up his phone he dialed an old contact, a psychologist who specialized with helping victims of violent crimes cope.

Upon explaining circumstances vaguely, he was given an emergency appointment for Spencer the following day for noon. Drawing circles on his lover's back, he was rewarded with him unfurling from a tight ball into a more loose-fit fetal-position. He hoped that would be enough to keep Spencer's knee from throbbing too much, but he doubted his lover would suddenly feel better anyway.

"Spencer, tomorrow we have another appointment." He whispered to his sleeping lover. It was between a confession and a subtle ploy to subconsciously plant the seed that Reid had somehow volunteered. He knew that victims often had a hard time reaching out for help, but he also knew profilers made for some of the worst victims to have.

It's comparable to having a doctor as a patient, the know-it-all will announce which medications are better to use for the condition and override the opinion of the other doctor. He casually looked at Reid and realized how triply fucked this therapist would be if Reid wasn't going to try.

XXX

In the morning, Aaron prepared Jack's breakfast while letting Spencer sleep in a bit upstairs. Jack happily ate the eggs and cereal before Jessica came to pick him up.

"Aaron, are you sure about this?" She asked, giving him a look as she saw just how tired the man appeared.

"I hate to ask this of you, Jess, but Jack really needs some time to just be able to do something fun and tire himself out. Spencer just can't take the loud noises right now."

"Right, because of _that thing_ that happened." Jess knew whatever that thing was that it had been bad, pretty damn bad, because even Jack seemed subdued and quiet about it. She, herself, had no idea just what had happened, only that it wasn't work-related, but it had taken a lot out of everyone in the household. "When are you going to tell me what it even was?"

"When he's ready to talk about it, he'll tell people about it. Right now it's in-house." Aaron mentioned, "I owe you for this, Jess."

"Oh, you do… but I'll do it for my nephew. Something about moping 6 year olds rubs me the wrong way." She smiled and fixed Jack's hair.

After Jess left with Jack, Jack and Aaron exchanging a bear-hug before parting ways, Aaron went to fixing two smoothies. The first a green-colored spinach-based abomination, and the other made with fresh coffee, milk, about a pound of sugar, protein powder and ice before putting it into the fridge to hide it.

Spencer woke up with a vague sense of smelling coffee, like Aaron had hoped despite finding Spencer's senses so acute. "We have an appointment at noon, here drink this."

Eying it, lids heavy, Spencer frowned slightly, "This is less than usual… And green."

"Yeah, well I still need you to drink all of it. I know it doesn't taste good, but you still have to get _something_ in you."

"As it is, my caloric intake has dropped down to, what, 1000 kilocalories a day? If we're going to start reducing portions I am going to literally waste a…way… like Clara…" His eyes started shifting around, looking as if Tim was somehow hiding in the kitchen, contemplating if Aaron had been gotten to somehow.

"That isn't going to happen. There's another drink after you finish this one but you have to take your antibiotics first. So just drink it, will you?"

As instructed, Spencer downed the drink, making an unpleasant grimace as he choked the atrocious cocktail down before being rewarded with a warm mocha-colored iced smoothie. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent, "Coffee? This is coffee?"

Aaron nodded.

"And you're allowing me to drink it? Coffee?"

"Yes, Reid, coffee, you can drink the coffee. I hope I didn't ruin it, but I thought it might be easier to drink the protein powder in that. If you stop sleeping again, though, we have to switch back to twice as much of that…" he pointed to the remnants of green sludge in the glass, "instead."

"I'll sleep, just don't take away the coffee." It was almost precious how Spencer curled the cup into a protective embrace. "Can I have some warm coffee after this too?"

"If you think you can handle that much in your stomach, we can, but you have to keep everything down."

"For coffee? My body wouldn't dare betray me." It sounded like an imperative being verbally dictated to make the weight of it more real to Spencer than any actual conversation with Aaron, but Aaron took it as a good sign.

After breakfast was over, Spencer asked where Jack had gotten to, suddenly seeming to feel anxious that the boy was unaccounted for.

"His Aunt Jessica took him out to play. He'll be back for dinner tonight."

"So long?"

"Well, the doctor's appointment might take a while…" Aaron had coaxed, Spencer's eyes narrowed.

"I don't remember signing up for any appointments. What's it _for_?"

"Dr. Smith, it's a follow-up for one of your new prescriptions." Aaron had never been so proud of his poker-face until that moment and the immediate moment afterwards when Spencer seemed to take it at face-value.

When they came up to the medical suite, Reid's eyes quickly scanned everything, taking in sign names, locations, and angrily realizing he'd been had.

"Aaron, what prescription was this following up on, exactly?"

He swallowed his own growing reprehension about springing this on his lover before stating, "Yesterday they gave you something to keep you calm."

"…No, they prescribed something to keep me sedated and off my game, that's why you didn't _fill them_, remember?" His voice was almost accusing.

"And, I didn't. You saw me hand off only two scripts to the pharmacists." He had to keep Reid's trust, because without trust there was nothing, especially with Reid in this state. "But it still begs the question of what we're going to do to keep you calm and rational when you get worked up. You do agree that, understandably, you've been getting worked up lately- correct?"

"So this is a therapist, isn't it? Hotch! I'm not ready to talk about this yet! Just… just even reliving it in my mind is too much. I... I can't do this!"

"I need you to just try! She's one of the best, and if you just honestly try, she might be able to tell you something useful…"

"What? Like something I don't already _know_?" his voice sounded so accusing, "Because you do realize what I do for a profession is basically the exact same thing she's going to try to not tell me so I can work out on my own as if I don't already know EXACTLY what ways she's going to…"

"I'm not implying you don't know what she's going to tell you, but that maybe just hearing it from someone else will help. If you just try to talk about it, maybe…"

"You're grasping at straws and I can't do this yet! It's too much!" The argument was becoming more heated from Reid and more frantic from Hotch before Hotch stopped, put on his office-face and used his boss-voice.

"Reid, I'm not asking, I'm telling you I need to you to go in and try. I'm not saying you have to succeed, but you have to at least take the first step!"

"Is that an order?" The hurt, the unbearable _hurt_ behind those brown eyes as he said it almost made Hotch abort the whole plan.

His voice stuttered out a wispy, "Reid…" but left it to his interpretation as the rest of his words were caught in his throat.

Brown eyes narrowed into an unhappy glare, fixed themselves into a neutral mask of indifference and walked into the office, no longer allowing for casual contacts with Aaron, and Aaron wasn't sure if this was the separation of Hotch and Reid as a professional level, the separation of Aaron and Spencer the pissed off, no, _scorned_ lover level, or a combination. What he did, however, know was that Reid's entire demeanor didn't change from neutral to happy over the course of a two hour conversation with a therapist for anything more than a farce.

"According to her, I'm clear for active duty. I'm a brave, brave soul, a trooper, and you're still an ass for doing that to me." Reid mentioned upon sitting down in the car. "So, as I'm still not even physically cleared yet, can we agree to not do this again and waste either of our time until I _am_ ready now?" He asked as Hotch just stared at him dumbly.

"Wait, she thought… Reid, did you _lie_ to her? For _two hours_ you just…"

"I'm NOT ready to talk about this! What do you expect? That I'll just take off years of mental shielding about everything in my life, rehash one of the worst experiences I've ever had, or hell, go for broke and just reveal everything and that somehow I'll be fixed? Aaron Hotchner, I do not say this often, but right now you leave me with no choice. _Fuck. You_!"

He blinked. Reid was right, he rarely ever did resort to swearing, but Aaron was not a quitter by nature. After the very silent car ride back to the Hotchner estate, and Reid's downright dismissal of Hotch except for the absolute mandates of contact like Aaron making his drink and insisting he ate to Spencer going to take a nap, Aaron called the therapist to find out exactly what the hell happened.

XXX

"Oh, Agent Hotchner, glad to hear from you! I'm so glad Agent Reid came in. I think he's doing remarkably well coping."

"Delores, is there any way you can give me any specifics, you know, potential triggers that I should avoid with him while he's in the field?" He knew that approach would get him an in faster because Spencer wasn't the only goddamned profiler in the fucking room.

"Well, he seems to have adjusted to his new situation, but he did say certain things still left him a bit upset, namely textile memories. He probably shouldn't be asked to make any actual arrests or be forced to use restraints on anyone unless absolutely necessary, but even so, he seems to have accepted what happened after the incident."

"Delores," He let out a sigh, "Did he specify how he managed to cope with this all so quickly?"

"Quickly? Coping doesn't follow timelines. You know that, Agent Hotchner." She smiled into the phone.

"His abduction happened only two weeks ago. How could that be anything but quick? Did he even mention the sexual assault? The feeling of being stalked? Any of this, Delores?"

Her voice told Hotch exactly what he had hoped. Her features had blanched. "What's this about? Hotchner, you didn't tell me any of this before I saw him! You told me he was subject to a violent crime, he told me about an unsub who made a charge at him and physically hurt him and your agent seemed well adjusted! You know I was seeing him as a personal favor and you withhold something like that? You know how difficult it is to work with profilers, you professionally break down and build up lies, and you didn't think that telling me what to be on the look out would be a good idea?"

"No, Delores, I didn't. I couldn't strong arm him into this and set you on him unless he was really willing to."

"Wait, strong-arming? You mean he didn't request this meeting? Then, you aren't seriously trying to give him field-clearance already are…?"

"No."

"You tried to PUSH him into therapy to HELP him, didn't you? We've talked about this before about other victims! Is he special risk for injuring himself? How do you expect me to do my job if you're denying me this much pertinent information!" Dr. Smith's angry, frustrated voice did little to hide how she felt and her own concern before she actually announced the call to be over and hung up on him.

When facing this option, and the way his lover was still in a tight ball curled in the center of the bed above the covers, Aaron couldn't help but call the one therapist he knew would understand the urgency. The same man he called after Foyet.

"Bill? This is Aaron. I have a favor to ask of you. I have an agent who just went through a massive ordeal and is being problematic to other therapists…"

Dr. Arlowski let out an even breath, "Tell me everything I need to know about what happened and what your profiler did to my colleague. I'll see him tomorrow at 8 AM."

After Aaron disconnected the call, he quickly called Jessica to set up a last-minute but entirely expected sleep-over for Jack.

XXX

At 7 AM, Spencer, hair up in odd angles, glared at his lover as he was forced to drink down more sludge then hurried out to another unsolicited _appointment_.

"Aaron, I know you're worried, and I get you're trying to fix me, but please… you've got to stop doing this to me!"

"Just try. Dr. Arlowski is a genuinely good person. He helped me work through my issues and cope."

"After months passed, Aaron, when you were _ready_!"

"You don't get ready to talk about this sort of shit, Spencer! And you and I know full well that we aren't the kind of people to just open up old hurts. This is eating you alive, damn it. I can't just watch you keep that hollowed-out look, it's scaring me, okay! Please just try, and if… if he can't help you yet, I'll give it a rest. I swear. But only if you honestly try!"

Scowling, his lover shirked his shoulders, "Do you know how tired I am? Of course this is eating me alive. There's a raving psychopath out there just waiting to… pull over! Pull over- I'm going to be sick!"

Aaron did immediately as Spencer instructed, his lover losing his breakfast just half a block from the doctor's office. That sinking air of misery settled in the car with the stale scent of vomit wafting under Aaron's nose tickling the hairs inside his nostrils, he could only assume Spencer was even more miserable thanks to his own meddling.

XXX

"Good afternoon, Dr. Reid. My name is Dr. Arlowski, but you can call me Bill. May I call you Spencer?"

Swallowing the knot forming in his throat, Reid entered the room and gave Hotch one last look begging for him to call it off. Hotch's answer was to slip the door shut and walk back to the waiting room to sit and pray that this would help Reid.

Not the response Reid had hoped for, but none-the-less had expected, Reid smiled awkwardly at Dr. Arlowski. "Good afternoon, Bill." He waved, instead of taking the hand extended to him in customary greeting. "You can call me that, but people usually refer to me as Reid or Dr. Reid."

"Interesting." Bill mentioned, gesturing to a chair. "Please, take a seat. So, tell me, how are things going right now?"

Reid's eyebrow ticked, "Right now, everything is within normal operating parameters."

"Normal? What's your normal, Dr. Reid?"

The way he kept making everything a question was grating on Reid's nerves, but he knew this sort of game, they have to figure out where he'll stall and then pounce. He couldn't let that happen.

"Honestly, I suppose normal is a silly word for me to use. I have an IQ of 187, can read over 20,000 words per minute and have an eidetic memory."

Bill clicked his tongue, "So intellect is your defense mechanism, is it? You've brought it up twice, now. You don't really want to be here, do you?" He smiled, that smug almost sarcastic little… Reid smiled back trying to pull in his own anger.

"Well, as of yet, I don't see the need to be."

"Really? I heard you went through quite an ordeal rather recently."

"I go through those rather frequently; profiling isn't a desk job."

"No, it's not. However, usually when you clock out for the day you'd expect it to be behind you. It must have been uncomforting to learn that you couldn't separate from it so easily with what happened. You like those levels of separation, don't you, Dr. Reid?"

"Levels of separation." Reid reiterated, oh he knew what he said and he knew what he meant, but he also knew that man had no right to assume who or what he was. He was always, _always_ on the job some way or another except when in bed with Aaron, and that was just a rule. Even taking Jack to the park he'd profile the mothers and their children to make sure he kept Jack as safe as possible. He didn't say anything, he just… stored it. "Dr. Arlowski, I might appear to be a flaky person to you, but I don't just turn off my brain like a switch when I'm done. It doesn't work like that, so no. No the fact that an unsub followed me around does not concern me because it somehow violated the sanctity of my off hours. Furthermore, I'm more than slightly offended that THAT would be what you think would bother me about it."

"Then please, do elaborate."

"Oh, I think I will." Reid smiled a snarl, "Right now, what bothers me is that you think you're even qualified to know how or what I feel. That because your dad took you behind the shed and beat you with a poker, that somehow, you magically can relate to anyone who's experienced something violent. What further disgusts me is that you think I'm separating myself from things because you're an escapist. When's the last time you called home to check on your mom? Hmm? How many years ago did your dad die and you still don't call her because you blame her for it? You still sleep with your bed to the corner, too, don't you Dr. Arlowski? Because you have a fear that your dead father is going to get up and come right in there, pull you from the bed, back to the shed and beat you for being a no-good, non-contributing mouth to feed in your household. That's one of the reasons you're an alcoholic, and don't pretend you haven't fallen back off the wagon lately, you were sober for what, two years then went back to it? Should I go on? I could talk about why all four of your marriages failed, even the remarriage to your second wife for the kids' sakes…"

"Get out." Dr. Arlowski blinked, a numb stupor covering his face as Reid stood and approached the door.

"Don't mind if I do." He shut the door with a quiet click, but in his own mind, it was as decisive as slamming the door shut so that it shook. He gave Hotch an equally unpleasant look. "He probably wants to chat with you, now. I'll be at the water fountain when you're finished talking."

Aaron blinked, blindsided by Spencer's hostility. Apparently something Bill said hit a nerve- that probably didn't bode well for Bill. He knocked on the door before entering.

"Agent Hotchner, good, this saves me the trouble of calling."

"Bill, are you alright?"

"You, I always thought _you_ were a tough nut to crack. Him? He's not a nut. He's not even a rock. What he is, is unhelpable until he feels like bringing himself in to address things. He wasn't defensive, he was _offensive_! How many other people have you brought him to like this?"

"One, yesterday."

"Do something smart, don't make it a third. I'll schedule him for a month from now if he's ready then, keep the appointment, if not, we'll reschedule for another month."

Hotch nodded once before looking back at the shaken, paled man. "How bad was it?"

"Well, he spared me the blow of my mother being an alcoholic, but that was about it. I swear, you profilers are always the biggest pains in the ass."

"Is that your professional opinion?" Hotch smiled, hoping Bill was calming down more.

"No, my professional opinion is he has PTSD through a proxy-diagnosis of the information you relayed to me."

Hotch nodded and then made his way to leave.

"I will say this, though. I heard that his attacker is out on the streets. So, has he started to see him everywhere yet? Because if he hasn't, he will. That much intelligence is going to play tricks on his mind."

"Thank you; I'm sorry about this Bill."

"As long as you don't do it to another one of my colleagues, that's fine. Well, unless you'd like my short-list of people who I think should retire."

XXX

"Reid…?" Hotch glanced around the deserted water fountain and made a b-line for the restroom. "Reid, where are you?"

Phone in hand, Reid let out a slow deep breath before looking at the LCD display, Morgan's name and number displayed the center of the dim phone but he couldn't actually find it in him to hit send. He hit the end button to clear it before dialing Hotch.

Sitting in a Starbucks in the back corner watching any and every passer-by wearily expecting to see Tim, he could still see the doctor's office across the street, but he just didn't have it in him to walk back into it. The extra large, hot coffee in his one hand made coping with all of the buzzing noise a little easier, but as it was, this was too stimulating too. He wanted to go back to Aaron's house and try to pretend all of this buzzing noise didn't exist in the world.

Half of one ring in, and Reid was rewarded with: "Reid! Where the hell are you?"

"Hey, across the street. They have better water. Sorry." He smiled when he heard the heavy sigh pass through his lover's lips. Was it really so odd that such a sound made his heart pang with a warm sensation? It made it impossible to stay angry at Aaron, that simple, exhausted sigh.

XXX

Just as one call disconnected, another started. Aaron looked at the screen, annoyed to no end. Strauss.

"This is Hotchner."

"Isn't it about time you come into the office? I understand your rights to use leave time as you see fit, but with two agents down, the case load is piling up."

That even way she held her tone did to Aaron's ears what shards of glass raked down his back would do. He kept his own tone flat as he gave a rehearsed reply, "I'll come in and take care of some of the paperwork." He looked at his watch, "I should be in a little after lunch."

As he walked into the busy café, he spotted Reid. Disconnecting his phone he had a look of complete guilt over his face.

"Let me guess… that was Strauss?" Reid measured Hotch's reactions and knew it was spot on, "And she demands you come in because as the team leader you can't be out and be an agent down… because the work-load is too much." The confirming nod made Reid's ears tingle with anger. "So, now that I'm all shaken up after this therapy stunt I have to go back to the house, alone. And stay there for God knows how long until she lets you out, _alone_."

"Actually, Jack should be back in time for lunch…" He wasn't sure if that was a sucker-punch or a benefit. To his seeming relief, Reid let out a breath of tension and let his shoulders unknot, if only a little bit.

"Alright, we should probably head back then, and start making lunch for him."

"I'm sorry…"

Reid didn't ask about what, he knew a blanket statement when he heard one. "I don't want to be mad at you, I just don't want to be put into a situation I'm not ready to handle, yet." What he didn't admit, while loading into the car was that even briefly stepping foot into the coffee shop had been horrifying. He almost expected Tim to be inside there, waiting. Then again, he had that same feeling every time his hand perched on the bathroom door to take a shower, or turned on the lights.

Unsure if the uneasiness was from the exposure in the café, the forced therapy session (again) or a combination of the two, he silently fretted and watched out the window in paranoia.

"Hotch, that car's been following us!" Reid said, pointing to the mirror, "The black sedan…"

Hotch glanced at his rearview in time to see the black sedan turn right. He looked back to Reid, "We're on a busy road, you shouldn't do this to yourself."

Reid's eyes flicked ahead as he saw a black sedan pull back into traffic. "There! It's back, I tell you it's…"

"It's a black sedan, Spencer." A hand moved from the steering wheel to trace the bottom of Spencer's lower lip. "Do you know how common black sedans are, Spencer?"

He gave his lover an offended look, "Of _course_ I know how common they are. Black is the third most popular color for cars in America, globally actually. It has gained 9% popularity over the last year, but silver and white are still more popular."

Aaron smiled. Once Spencer was in statistics mode, he was easier to distract, and by virtue of egging him on, he had diverted the hysterics and anxiety attack he'd otherwise have to deal with before leaving Jack alone with him.

"According to some color psychologists, driving a black car represents a sense of empowerment, elegance, and aren't easy to manipulate. It's also a color of authority and control. Why do you think we drive black SUVs as our work vehicles? There's a very real feeling to seeing a large, black vehicle dominate a scene. But a sedan? Those _are_ common. Common enough to blend in without being obvious, perfect for tailing a person, especially if you're a wealthy, psychotic sociopath who wants to kill a federal agent who just so happened to escape. I'm telling you, he's following us, Aaron!"

Hotch clenched his jaw, "Tell me what the license plate is. Can you read it?"

Reid focused on the mirror, squinting to make it out. "Yeah, it's Charlie Zeta Four Six Tango Delta."

"CZ46TD, what state?"

"DC license." Reid said, more tensely.

"Government tags?"

"Doesn't appear to be."

"Alright," Hotch took out his cell phone, he dialed one Miss Penelope Garcia before starting, "Garcia, can you run a plate for me?"

"Sure thing, sir. Is everything okay?"

"Just let me know when you're ready." He mentioned, still watching the road, trying to ignore the intense gaze Spencer was shooting him.

"Ready, sir." Anyone could tell she was smiling when she spoke.

"Charlie, Zeta, Four, Sixer, Tango, Delta. I repeat, Charlie, Zeta, Four, Sixer, Tango, Delta."

"Comes up as… a black Honda Civic registered as a… oh come on, you can register as that?" She paused as if stuffing back a laugh, "It's… registered as a _clown_ car for a commercial company."

"A clown car? Thank you, Garcia. I'll be in within an hour or so."

"See you soon, boss man. Feel better, Reid!" She said, knowing too much for Spencer's own good. He let out a groan.

"A clown car. Real threatening, so, are they coming to give you birthday wishes a bit too early, or maybe a get well-o-gram?" Aaron said, flopping his phone into the space underneath the radio unit.

"But…but it's been following us."

"Did you see the plates before?"

"No…but, it's the same one! I know it is… it has to be…" Closing his eyes, he slouched into the seat,  
"Alright, I get it, I'm being hyper-vigilant, defensive, and crazy. Does it make you happy to hear me admit it or something?"

"No. It makes me miserable because I know right now you're miserable. I love you, and it hurts that I can't somehow help you more. I'll try not to push too hard in the future, it's a slow process, and I know we have to take it at your pace… it's just…" He trailed off.

"It's just…?" Reid half expected Hotch to continue, but when he didn't, he straightened in his seat. "It's just you want to be like how we were before it happened, and it's cramping your style that we can't be."

"I didn't say that! I …do admit I wish it would be like before, but I don't blame you, I'm not angry at you that it happened, I just don't want to see you hurting. It takes time to get back to a sense of normalcy, and I have that time. But I do miss how we were before. It doesn't take a genius to count how many fights we had before this happened."

"Three. One about coming out to the team, one about being found out by Garcia, and one about how I put my dishes away."

Aaron smiled, "…but we have been fighting more, lately. You're an adult, you know what you want and what you need, and I need to be more adult and respect that. I'm sorry."

Tears pricked the corners of Reid's eyes.

"I really do love you…" A soft sob escaped Reid's lips, "You have no idea how much I want you to just hold me and take me. But the second I think that it terrifies me, too. What… what if I try to relate that to what that son of a bitch did to me?" He took in gasps of air faster now, gulping them down and wheezing them out faster. "I… I should have fought back more… if I had challenged him… maybe it wouldn't have gone so far, maybe it would've disrupted his fantasy…"

"Maybe he would've killed you right then and there. You did what you had to to survive, Reid. You did everything to the best of your abilities to survive and you did nothing wrong. Look at me, Spencer, I mean it. You did nothing wrong. I waited years to kiss you that first time. Something I knew I wanted to do after the first time I ever held you in my arms. I can wait for you because you're worth waiting for."

Aaron pulled the car onto the residential street. Three turns later, the car stood before his driveway.

XXX

"Daddy!"

"Hey buddy, how was it?"

"It was really, really, really fun! Aunt Jess even got me an ice cream cone after!"

Aaron, playing his part let his voice hitch and pretend to admonish Jess, "An ice cream cone? Before lunch? Now that's silly, Jack! Did you wash your hands first?" He said giving a bit of that playful but serious rule tone to the young boy.

"Yep, with soap and warm water, just like Spencer says is best to dis… disin… disintegrate bugs!"

"Disinfect, Jack. To disinfect your hands of bugs," he smiled, a wary, tired smile. "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to take a nap. Let me know when you're done eating, Jack, so we can play. Okay?"

"Okay! What should we play? Pirates?"

"How about astronauts?" He let out a yawn. "We'll have to put on our box-hats and pretend we're floating through space. In space you move slow, drifting, like you're swimming between points."

Aaron kissed Spencer's forehead and then picked Jack up, depositing him onto his shoulders. "Alright, space boy, what should you have for lunch? Mac and Cheese and broccoli? That would be one large step for Jack-kind."

"Hmm, nah, I want spaghetti-Os and green beans!"

"Okay, coming right up." Aaron secretly was amazed at his son's willingness to eat veggies. Unsure if Jess had bribed him with ice cream or if Spencer's talks about building blocks had led to the milestone.

XXX

After lunch, Aaron kissed Jack on the forehead and sent him up to wake up Spencer, coming in behind the youngest Hotchner.

"Spence, time to get up. I'll probably be a few hours. I know Dave will give me two or three cases to determine which one is best to send them off on. He'll probably try to find some local ones though."

Nodding, he slowly sat up. Jack had opened up the curtains to let in light. Eyes flinching, he looked out the window to see a black blur drive by.

"There isn't a way to keep you here, is there?" Reid grabbed his glasses, he looked at Jack feeling a tremendous amount of guilt. The words refused to leave his throat, '_If you leave, I know he'll come… please don't leave!_'

"Strauss has a reason to be upset, as much as I hate to admit it. Being the head of the BAU means I have certain responsibilities, whether I want them or not, at times." He kissed Reid on the forehead, "But I promise I'll be back before six at the latest. It's just for a few hours. You can hold out for me, right? Jack'll help guard the fort."

Jack smiled and started to march around the bedroom, looking here and there.

"…I just… I have this nagging feeling, and it won't go away."

"I know. I'll call in on the hour to check in, how does that sound? And if it sounds like you can't make it through the day without me, I'll come back and work from home."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Aaron smiled and put another soft kiss on Spencer's forehead, "Really."

"Okay."

Hugging Jack once more, Aaron reminded him to be gentle on the recovering Spencer before heading out the door. As he pulled out of view, down the street, a black sedan pulled up across the street and parked at the curb.

XXX

Sicking Jack on him had been unfair, Spencer thought as the little boy bounced across the room still trying to 'cheer' him up. He patted the energetic boy's head and let his fingers linger in the soft hair. He really is a sweet, good natured person, just like his dad. Especially because, just like his dad, he's tenacious once assigned a task, Reid concedes to himself and offers up a small but fully meant smile. In the sanctity of Aaron's home, he forces himself to calm down. He had to have imagined it all, that's right. That's what made the most sense.

Convinced of this, after an hour of Jack all but running in circles under foot trying to distract him, he decided to give the boy his way and be distracted from it all.

"Hey, Jack, do you want to work on a puzzle with me? I have one with over 200 pieces."

The young boy looked amazed, "Wow! I can't even count that high!"

"Well, we can practice counting that high while we put it together. How does that sound? Should I get the puzzle out?"

An excited nod gave Reid all the indicators he needed, actually, no, they gave more than he needed. That gleam of joy in the boy's eyes made it perfectly clear he had him on the hook.

"Okay, I'm going to go upstairs and get it. Do you want anything to drink?"

Jack thought for a minute and then offered, "I'll get us both some juice. Daddy says I'm getting really good at pouring it!"

"Really? High five." Spencer stuck his hand forward and the boy excitedly jumped to hit it. "Okay, you get the juice, I'll get the puzzle, and we'll meet in the living room in two minutes."

"Okay." The boy smiled happily and set off to get the offered juice.

From the stairs Spencer could hear the chair dragging across the floor, the ringing of his cell phone distracted him for a moment from the sounds of pattering feet clambering up and down the chair and then dragging it again, now that Jack had the glasses, probably to the fridge to get the grape juice.

"Reid, here." Reid answered reflexively. He listened to the sounds from the other end, "So how long are you going to be?"

"The others are doing their best to push me out of the office, not without a care-package of files, but working from home beats working from the office if given the two choices."

"Yeah…" he almost wistfully added a question in his rhetoric, but Aaron was right. Spencer would feel much better if his lover was here with him, even if he did have to file papers. "Jack and I are going to put together a jigsaw puzzle, but before we make a complete mess out of the living room he's going to get us juice. Consider that mess your punishment for making him guilt me into smiling."

Aaron laughed into the phone in a hushed tone. "Well, I'm glad it worked. I'm sorry you felt guilty."

"Liar." Reid smiled, as he shifted the phone, he looked at the shelf beside the window in Aaron's home office. His eyes went large as he saw a black sedan parked across the street. "Aaron… your neighbors… do any of them drive a black Civic…?"

"Which ones, Reid?"

"The ones across the street…?" The weak question, the grasping at straws had caught Hotch's attention as he relayed the information he had on his neighbors.

"No. Last time I saw them, they drove a silver hatch-back Audi and a dark grey Pilot." His voice was measured, trying to do the same of his lover's tone.

"…I really want you to come home now."

Fear, dripping and wet- that was the sound coming out of Spencer's throat. Spencer's breathing patterns shifted, that much Hotch could tell from the cell phone. He couldn't, however, hear the knock at the door or the pattering sound of his son moving to get the door.

"I'll get it!" Jack called through the air. Aaron vaguely heard that, but the sound didn't come closer, in fact, he heard a thud sound as Spencer dropped the phone and padded in even faster steps, quite possibly a sprint as Spencer ran down the stairs towards Jack.

"NO! Jack! Jack, no! I… I got it! Uh… Jack… don't go near the door! I got it!"

The young boy stopped half-way between the living room and the foyer as Reid impacted against the wall, bouncing off it slightly as a way to stop his sprint instantly, and with a bit of a crash.

Jack tilted his head in confusion, Spencer looked pale and sweaty, not at all like he had left him when he had left to get juice. "Jack, you remember the cell phone your dad showed you… the _important_ one?"

Spencer took out his gun and slid down the wall to minimize how much area he was exposing, already assuming the hostility of the door. He looked at the door, gun drawn, then back to Jack pointedly, hopefully. The young Hotchner nodded.

"Good, good… I want you to find it and call your dad. But Jack, this is important, remember the rules with that phone?"

The boy nodded, "Only use it in an emergency, and only use it in the closet."

The knock sounded louder. Reid glared at the door, the knob turned an exploratory quarter-turn. Finding there was no give, the knocking continued.

"Right, that means once you use it you have to stay in there until we 'clear' here, right?"

The boy nodded, his eyes weighed heavily with an emotion as if somehow Spencer was going to disappear. "You're scaring me, Spencer! Promise you'll come get me!"

"I… I promise, Jack. I don't mean to scare you, we'll… we'll put the puzzle together with your dad when he gets home, and we clear the place. Now hurry and get it."

He knew Jack was holding in his own panicked tears, and he knew they were there for good reason. He approached the door, touching the knob lightly to feel it twist again, his hand reflexively pulled back, a wave of repulsion and fear sweeping through him. He swallowed heavily and kept the gun trained on the door he leaned to angle a view through the peep-hole without standing in the center of the door. He gave a look back to where Jack had been standing, instead he was greeted with the boy closing the closet door. Good, _good_.

From what Reid could see, there was a young man, maybe early twenties, possibly late teens, he was holding some balloons and had make-up on. He looked miserable with a fake smile plastered on him and black eyeliner extending the lines of the smile into an even faker grin. White diamonds were put over his baggy eyelids from an all-nighter probably from exams, but possibly from a college drinking binge, and the pink tinge of face paint on his cheeks made it clear that this guy was literally a clown.

Reid let out a sinking breath and unlocked the deadbolt, but not the chain.

"Wh…what do you want?"

The young man, with a fake smile plastered on his face in a too-chipper to be real voice leaned in close to the space in the door and opened his toothy smile into a goofy grin, "Balloon-o-gram here for one Froopy-Droopy, Frumpy-Gallumpy you from your sweet lover-oo!"

Reid cocked his gun, making sure not to muffle the sound even slightly.

"Woah! Hey now!" The young man reeled back all the pleasantries of his facial expressions lost, despite the painted smile staying put, "Put down the gun man, I know people don't like clowns sometimes, but seriously?"

"Who sent you? I want their NAME, NOW!"

He swallowed thickly. Hands releasing everything in them, balloons floated up, a card and box fell down. There was a popping sound, and then green, pink, and yellow smoke seeping through the vented door as the man ran back to the safety of his car, muttering something about quitting.

Reid coughed, putting his left elbow in front of his nose and mouth to shield him from the noxious gas as he slammed the door.

Coughing, he reeled back and started to stagger to the closet, ready to announce a false alarm to Jack when he heard another popping sound. Actually, it was more of a cracking sound and when that was too limited, it was followed by three punctuated explosions of gunfire.

Reid's eyes went large. The large chunks of door missing were focused around the peephole, the middle of the door, Jack's height, Reid bitterly realized, and the handle.

Making an executive decision, Reid realized it was much more dangerous to risk going toward the safety of the closet, where Jack no doubt was hiding, talking to his dad and telling him of strange noises.

Instead, he made a run for the stairs knowing full well how much the last run to come down them had set his whole body on an agonizing fire.

Really, down was much better than up, though. This? This pain felt of stitched bursting open again, internal _and_ external ones. He bit down a strangled yelp as the door was forced open with a kick. He continued his run up the steps back to the office, knowing his cell phone was in there, and that if he was going to ambush his attacker he'd have one shot, one shot thanks to an adjoining room as he made sure to leave enough of a trail of noise to signal to Tim- because really who else could this be- toward him and not, in fact, towards the closet or Jack.

"Oh, darling…" There was a sickening sing-songy voice of Tim, wafting through the air, stabbing Reid in the stomach, gutting him with that fake sweetness. It was that same sickly-sweet of arsenic. "Let's hurry up and pack for the honeymoon!"

TBC.


	10. Chapter 10 by HalfBrokenMoon

Flowers at the Office: Part 10 (Finale)  
Part 10 by Half_Broken_Moon

Story by Vanessa S. Quest & Half_Broken_Moon

Beta'd by CMAli

Things were tense, undeniably and horribly tense, inside the bullpen today. Penelope Garcia walked past Hotch's office, heels clicking behind her as she remembered the grumpy look he gave the team as he stalked into his office with Rossi and Strauss behind him. She knew all too well what was going on in there. She was thankful that her only task right now was to head back to her sanctuary and let Rossi take care of the situation. She also needed to try and keep Hotch from getting fired because he was understandably worried about Reid.

Full, red lips pulled downward at the memory of her poor friend. How he had put on a brave face to hide away the despair and fear he felt in that sterile, void hospital suite. He was indeed one of the best actors, even better than her, but he was foolish to think he could hide the truth from them especially with those sad eyes.

Garcia halted near the end of the hallway and turned to look at the door. 'Good luck Hotch' she thought, then kept walking to her waiting monitors and other expensive equipment.

XXX

It was still too early in the day for Aaron Hotchner to play politics. It was still too early in the day for Aaron Hotchner to deal with Strauss. Rossi, however, was perfectly fine in every which way.

All three, however, were eager to leave Agent Hotchner's office. But to do that required compromises. Aaron Hotchner, master hostage negotiator, had become a hostage to the situation and demands of his boss. Dave played mediator as they tried to reach a conclusion.

"Look," Strauss shifted in her seat, her bottom clearly tired from sitting in a very uncomfortable chair. "I understand your concern for your agents, this one in particular."

Hotch rose his brow subtly so as not to give away the boiling pit of annoyance he was feeling in his stomach. 'This one in particular…' does she even care? She does, of course. Even a person driven by power like Strauss still had a heart, small but there. He attributed it to some farce of maternal instincts, Reid's age and her own, the likely way she thought he'd view it too. That saved him one headache at least.

Strauss continued, "But you can't just abandon your duty like that, especially when we are short two agents. Do you hear me?"

Ah, Hotch wanted to smile. Strauss was using her strict motherly tone. She was getting fed up.

"Yes I hear you," Hotch finally quirked a friendly understanding smile as a substitute for the dry smile. "I'm fully aware that we are two men down. I'm also aware as to why we are at the position we are in. One is recovering, and the other is, well…maybe you can refresh my memory as to why. So when you asked me if I could hear what you just said, then yes, yes I can hear you."

"Huh," Strauss let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, I know you've been under a lot of stress because of the court case and the pursuit of Mr. Johnson, but we need your unit on the Maryland case. Governor McCoy called me personally and wants you in Maryland as soon as possible."

"I promise you Agent Reid will be safe and secure. I'll personally make sure of that."

That was surprising.

"I'll have to settle a few things first." Hotch stood up from his chair and shook hands with her for the agreement. "Thank you again for being so understanding."

It was Strauss's turn to lift her brow at him. A small gentle smile curved to one side, barely noticeable but so clearly there, "Same here. Thank you Agent Hotchner, Agent Rossi."

After she left Rossi chuckled into his fist and shook his head at his younger friend. "She has a soft spot for the kid, doesn't she?"

"Strauss may be power hungry, but she's not blind. Reid is good for her professional brand. I'm surprised she isn't dangling him in front of politicians like an engagement ring, but even she has the sense to realize he doesn't fare well in political situations," Hotch looked up at Rossi with dark, tired eyes.

"Heh," Rossi settled himself at the same chair Strauss previously sat her pompous behind in. "Engagement rings…now that's something to think about."

Hotch flashed him a warning glance. He knew what was creeping inside that salt and peppered head. Ever since Reid and Hotch had been going 'steady' Rossi and Morgan never let the opportunity for little playful and teasing jokes. Reid still made that murderous face at the two then would walk away blushing when he was out of their sight. Hotch missed seeing that. Every day he hoped he could get that back.

"I'm glad," Rossi smugly smirked. Hotch perked his head up, surprised at the two little words that came out of Rossi's mouth like tiny darts. "It's good to know that two messed up people like you could find love in the most impossible settings anyone can ever imagine. There is hope for us all."

"Stop being a smart ass, and help me look at this case," Hotch threw the file from across his desk toward Rossi.

Before Hotch and Rossi could get down to some real work, Aaron's cell phone started to buzz on top of a stack of papers. He picked it up hoping it wasn't Reid on the other end with one of his recent paranoid bouts. No, now he felt guilty for thinking that. Strauss really got under his skin today to be in such a foul mood. Just the sight of her was enough. "Hello?"

Rossi frowned at the sight of the color draining from Hotch's face. "Hotch?" He asked, wary and concerned.

Hotch shot out of his seat, files scattered on the floor, "Jack! It's okay. I'll be right there. It's okay. Just be really quiet, okay. It's going to be okay."

Rossi jumped out of his seat, ignoring the pain in his knee that made contact with the corner of the desk, and crossed the office as quickly as he could, "I'll get everyone ready."

XXX

'This's like the nightmare I had last night…'

He was trapped, trapped inside his own room of his apartment in that dream. All his doors were blocked by sharp thorns, snaking from every corner. The windows fared no better. Reid looked outside but there was nothing. Just black eternity, the room itself incased in a surreal darkness despite his ability to identify his surroundings.

Tim was outside, coming closer and closer-calling for him, promising love and devotion. Reciting a deeply, deeply disturbing list of what he was intending to do to him. 52 things he wanted to do to him-_would_ do to him. When Reid thought Tim had left, he closed his eyes in relief. The second he opened them Tim was standing right before his eyes. That's when he found himself lying on their bed. Legs tangled by sheets and Aaron squeezing his arms together.

In his mind, that flash of memory of being held by Aaron in bed gave his mind a fraction of solace before reality cracked him in the jaw with a sucker punch.

This time it wasn't a nightmare. This was really happening. It was so odd that Reid even questioned if he was hallucinating. No, this was real. Everything hurt. He was the lone guardian between Jack and the man that had done such horrible things to him once before, his chest heaved in pain as if his heart was in a struggle to beat from a lead encasement too tight for movement.

The pain didn't last long enough as Reid regained his senses. A calm merciful numbness made its way all over his body. The tornado of every unpleasant emotion he'd ever experienced-and some new ones-were too much for his body to grapple with. Reid couldn't even feel the steady stream of blood running down his pant leg anymore. All these sensations were replaced by a hollow coldness, ice water in the veins, he believed the metaphor was.

"Spencer, honey," Tim's menacing voice echoed from the stairway. He was getting closer now, Reid could hear his footsteps. Each step Tim placed was methodical and paced with the graces of a feline sneaking upon its prey readied to pounce, bat and eat its kill.

_Spencer._

Just the sound of his name brought him back to his senses and into his body, or more precisely, into hyperacute awareness. No longer was he in a painless haze of nightmares and waking dreams, he was in this situation, and he had to think to get out of it. Coming to grips with this, he did what comes so well to him-he analyzes and he thinks.

Reid realized that his body must have reacted to the memory of being trapped in Tim's own house at the moment he heard Tim call him a few seconds ago. All he could remember from then until now was a blur.

'Okay… breathe… breathe… Jack is inside the house,' Reid could feel his mind getting clearer and clearer. His large brain began to organize his thoughts like he did before many, many times when he was in danger. 'You survived anthrax for God's sake. Jack needs you. Aaron needs you to keep Jack safe. Jack is all that matters now.'

He absolutely hated that the reason why he's back to focused mode was because Jack was inside the house. Reid knew that the safe room provided reasonable protection, but Tim wasn't reasonable, Tim's a monster. A monster capable of anything and the only real way to keep Jack safe was to get him outside of the house, away from said monster.

Reid strained his ears as hard as he could focusing on any footsteps so he could pin-point Tim's whereabouts. Tim had walked past Aaron's office and instead headed to the master bedroom. Figures Tim would assume Reid would be hiding there first instead of Hotch's study. Good, that gave him the advantage for now. He looked out the window, in the middle of the day in a suburb and to be expected, not a single neighbor out for a walk or cutting the grass.

Tim was now skulking through the main bedroom and opening whatever he could find. Closets, drawers, boxes, anything that looked like Reid owned it. The ruckus made Reid assume he would be gathering up his possessions, probably hoarding them as a physical manifestation of his desires. Reid could only speculate what sort of perverted thoughts were striking Tim as he did so, but he was far too nauseated to want to know what his intents were.

Reid silently opened the door and crept toward the master bedroom's door. The swishing sounds of Tim opening all the drawers were a bit louder, so were his ramblings.

"Speeeencer," Tim called out from the room. "Spencer, where are you? I promise you that I'm not mad. I still love you."

'Love? He doesn't even know what that is.' Reid thought as he steadily slid his hand to the doorknob and twisted it. Gun drawn, ready and waiting.

"We have a beautiful estate in Southern France waiting for us. You'll love it there. You speak French, right? I'm sure you do; you're so smart. If you don't then that's okay, too, you'll learn it right away. I can't wait to hear you speak French. It'll sound so beautiful coming from your lips. I can help you learn it because I took French lessons myself. I'm very good at it," Tim rambled on. "Plus près de Dieu est celui qui est amoureux. That means 'closer to God is one who is in love.'"

It was now or never. Steady long fingers heaved the twisted knob forward making the door swing inward. He peeked through the slit and could see Tim's slim back from across the room. The man was standing at the foot of the bed humming a little, careless tune. A pile of what seems to be Reid's own clothes and belongings sit there as Tim carefully arranged them all into two sets of brown leather suitcases. Brand new and probably cost what Reid makes in a month's salary.

Something shiny caught Reid's hazel-brown eyes. It sparkled like it _wanted_ his attention. Reid rolled his eyes involuntarily-a knife in his sleeve. How original.

'Deep steady breaths' Reid reminded himself. 'Jack is downstairs. I need to keep him safe. I need to keep Jack safe. Hotch needs him to be safe.' the young agent said as he slinked closer. That knife had to go first.

"Hands up," Reid called from behind Tim's back. "You have the right to remain silent."

"Tsk tsk," Tim casually turns around, eyes lit up with excitement and relief. Reid felt the bile rise up to his throat but showed him no fear. Instead his face wore a mask of calm impassivity that veiled his disgust.

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you. I even packed your things," Tim lifted one large and expensive suitcase filled with Reid's belongings with his left hand. The other beckoned towards Reid. "Now, can we go?"

XXX

Panic, pure and blinding panic. Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan were speeding down the highway, sirens blaring and lights flashing. None of the three agents didn't say a word to each other, instead the only conversation would come as Hotch would speak a few comforting words to his son. Everyone could hear the handful of Jack's choking sobs.

"Daddy, I heard something loud," Jack said through shaky breaths. "Hurry Daddy!"

Hotch gripped the phone, knuckles white against his black sleeve. "I'm almost there Jack. Just… just stay calm okay buddy? Everything is going to be okay."

"Daddy! Hurry!" Jack then let out a shriek before he dropped the phone.

"Jack- Jack!" Hotch shouted. "What's happening?"

Morgan pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

XXX

Reid pointed the gun at Tim's face but the man didn't flinch, nor care. He only smiled mischievously down at Reid, curious, amused, thinking how silly Reid was acting. His thoughts on why Reid was a little upset at him, but knew his lover would get over it once he sees the horizon of the Ocean in their private plane gave him that confidence. "Put the gun down honey. I know you're a little mad. I messed up, I'm sorry. Put it down, please?" Tim asked sweetly.

"I won't."

Tim's toothy grin widened and his eyes crinkled with excitement as he looked at Reid's gun trained on him. "Trust me, you don't want to do that," then he slightly turned his head towards the side and mused, "I think I should say hello to that little munchkin I unfortunately missed a few minutes ago."

Reid cocked his gun and growled. "The knife. Put it on the floor. Now."

"We both know I'm not going to do that just yet, but… I'll promise not to hurt the little one or come back for that man you like so much if you leave with me," Tim raised the suitcase to emphasize his point. "Our flight leaves in an hour."

"I promise not to shoot you if you comply with my orders," Reid counters and sorely wished he _could_ just shoot him dead. Why not? He's right there with no gun, he's armed with a knife. It could be so easy, but he knew that Hotch didn't need another dead body being found in his house. There might be blood on the carpet but that's the worst that could happen if Reid did this right. "If you'll just calmly…"

"Our flight leaves in an hour," Tim repeated, his sense of urgency in his plan made him brazen- foolishly so. "I know you won't kill me. You're not the type."

Reid growled. Tim should have seen him back in Georgia all those years ago. That might change his opinion.

"Fine," Reid lowered his gun towards Tim's knee cap and fired.

Tim screamed at the top of his lungs, buckling downward, suitcase up in the air. "What did you do?"

Reid let out a breathy laugh.

"You hurt me!" Tim glared, eyes wide, as he clutched at his bleeding knee for dear life. Reid just stood there, gun still aimed true.

"Why? I came back for you! I didn't want to leave you there with those outsiders, but I had no way of saving you then… But I came back! I mean it! I love you, Spencer, my darling… We can still make this work out-so why would you shoot me?"

"Knife!" Reid shouted and that was enough to strike Tim silent. As silent as uttering curses and promises can get.

"Jesus, this hurts… Alright, alright, I'm getting the knife. I'm putting it down. Don't shoot me, again!"

After thirty seconds Tim slid the knife from out of his sleeve and dropped to the side. The young agent grabbed the knife, gun still pointed, and placed it in-between his back and the band of his pants.

_Bzzzzzz_.

A soft muffled buzz was heard from across the room. Reid recognized it as his own cell and that Tim had flung it carelessly while he was on his rampage minutes ago. Reid sighed. He wanted to keep his distance from Tim but he had to call Jack and tell him he was alright, at least. The boy must be terrified, reliving the moments when his mother died. Guilt panged in Reid's heart at the thought. The guilt spread like a virus when he realized that they might have to move to a different house: one preferably with two baths, three bed rooms, and no murderous visitors.

Reid slowly made his way to his cell phone and dialed Jack. It was busy. Damn. He placed it in his pocket for the meantime. He returned his attentions to Tim writhing in pain on the floor.

A shot to the knee, 'Huh' Reid thought. He knows how much that hurts. It really must hurt Tim. The pain must be almost unbearable. The knee cap must be shattered by the bullet. Medial collateral ligament must be torn. But he's able to keep his balance standing on one leg, there's no damage to the femur. Reid can't stop himself from thinking, 'That's a shame.'

Tim was huffing and clenching his jaw shut. Reid thought that he, himself, took it better when he got shot in the same knee. Heck, he even shot the unsub and even sent the doctor away to help the man.

Lateral collateral ligament is intact.

Reid angled down his neck to look at the wound with no intent on stopping the gushing blood.

Posterior cruciate ligament is probably intact.

He can see among the gushing red a gaping bone-white and grey of the synovial bursa.

Ah, the articular cartilage. That's where the bullet must be wedged, the patella is shattered.

"Spencer!" Tim whimpered, one hand hesitated to rise from his knee, ghosting towards Reid almost pleaded to have contact. "Spencer…"

Sunken brown eyes flinched. He's still talking. Reid wants to make him stop. Whatever spark of emotions he had before was gone. All were now replaced with a dead, numb feeling that spread throughout his body: disgust, hate, fear, all gone now. All left space for a spectacle of rage Reid had never felt before in his life.

Aaron had told him he was going to be ok, he was going to be safe-that he was _imagining_ things.

"We can still make things work. I forgive you. You forgive me for leaving, don't you Spencer?"

"Shut up!" Reid grabbed Tim's collar and lifted the slightly heavier man up a little, despite the fire that raked up his center for it. "Shut up!"

"Spencer…" Tim cringed as a rush of new pain enveloped him.

"Stop it!"

"We still have time Spencer. We can," Tim winched again, "make it. The plane…"

"Shut up!" Reid yelled out and suddenly felt light as he lost himself. As if watching a movie from outside of his own body. In this private viewing of the violent movie, he was somewhere calm and rational, albeit slightly amused with what was happening.

While on this supposed out of body experience, Reid saw himself pummel Tim in the face. His own thin face reddened with fury. Fists were flying all around; the blood vessels bulged on his forehead.

To his surprise Tim was fighting back. The out-of-body Reid winced when he saw Tim's hand connect to his jaw, then his cheek, then his stomach, even one to his stitches. Any punch Tim landed made no difference whatsoever to the genius, though, he was in a place beyond pain. He let all the rage he was storing inside him release in a flash flood. It was the most satisfying thing he felt before he was taken away from it.

Reid inhaled a sharp breath. Mind and body connected once more in that breathy epiphany. A wet sticky sensation was the first he registered, followed by a sharp ripping pain on the side of his stomach.

Oh.

He was bleeding.

_A lot_.

At the realization of the wound, all the feelings he discarded earlier hit him like a freight train, along with a new dizzy sensation. His vision became blurry.

Reid wilted into the wall, his left hand clutched at the bloody, sore wound and embedded knife, his right hand held fast to the gun he clutched to for safety. Why hadn't he thought to shoot? His finger pulled against the trigger only to realize he already had it pulled down. The damn thing picked a hell of a time to jam.

Tim painfully sulked at the sight of him, "Come on, don't give me that face," he brushed a stray bang from Reid's forehead then tried to reach for the gun in Reid's hand. The genius snapped out of his daze at the realization. Adrenaline was pumping through his body again, and he used the rush to fight back with full force.

The mad man only managed to help the gun fly from Reid's hand. Black metal falling across the room in a soft thump against the door. Tim ignored his injured knee and started to crawl towards it leaving a small trail of blood. To Reid, it was as slimy as a path a snail would blaze.

Tim's never going to give up.

He _never_ will.

Tim has it planned out already. He'll grab the gun, get Reid to help him down the stairs, shoot Jack, climb into the Mercedes, get inside the private jet, have a team of doctors work on them both, then go to France. He can smell the champagne and the ether already. The judge and the prosecutors who were supposed to protect Reid from this were putting the noose on him instead.

Reid pulled the knife from his wound.

"Augh," Tim exhaled a gasp. Something warm was seeping from his side, he could faintly smell bile and metal, and inside the hole in his belly he could see the dark red that he knew was his liver. "Spen-Spencer…" Tim said through quivering lips then went limp on the carpet.

Reid let go of the knife, sticky with blood, decorated by red swirls of his fingerprints. He struggled upward as he ignored the pain at the side of his stomach, as hard as that was. "Jack," He had to get to Jack downstairs. Just to make sure.

The trip down the stairs was slow and arduous. Once his legs caved it became much quicker and punctuated with the unpleasantness of taking a tumble down half a flight of stairs. With a clatter, he fell to the landing; long thin fingers clutched the wall, decorating bloody streaks in his wake as he forced himself back upright. Reid finally made it to the small closet downstairs before pushing the closet door open. "Jack," he whispered, feeling the scratchiness of his throat and not finding the strength to speak louder. "Jack, it's safe to come out now… Jack?"

Jack's frightened, muffled sobs could be heard through the wall. He was talking to someone, Reid observed. Hotch most likely. He would like to talk to him, too. He leaned against the secret door in attempt to bolster his strength and dexterity to work on the latching mechanism, but before he could open the entrance of the safe room, the weight of darkness swallowed him whole.

XXX

"I'm sorry." Hotch sat on the hard plastic chair across from Reid's bed in the hospital room.

Reid sighed, but shook his head at the apology. "Don't," he said as he stroked Jack's hair. The boy managed to crawl onto Reid's bed and fall asleep while both adults were talking about something Jack had no interest in listening to.

"I shouldn't have left you both there when…"

"Don't start," Reid tightly smiled at Hotch. Earlier he was justified in guilt tripping the unit chief, but he soon got tired of it and even felt guilty about it. "You don't have to apologize a hundred times. I accepted your first ten apologies. Look…Jack was so tired of hearing you say I'm sorry, he even fell asleep."

Hotch reached for Reid's hand and brushed his thumb over the soft skin. Silence fell between the two-the only sounds emanating were from the hospital machines and Jack's soft breathing. Then Hotch opened his mouth once more but was stopped by Reid's fierce glare.

The team was waiting outside, all relieved that Reid's injuries weren't as grave as they could have been. Reid perked up when he heard a burst of laughter coming from outside the door. Garcia must have said something to Morgan, and he wondered what was so funny.

"So…" Reid stopped stroking Jack's hair for a short moment. Wondering if he should even be asking such a question. "Is he…gone?"

Hotch quirked a smile, "His case has become a federal one. His family doesn't know enough people to get to the judge presiding over him _this_ time. The prosecutor is a personal friend of mine from when I was a DA."

"Oh… I thought I…" Reid turned red from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears.

"No, but you did a number on him. If it were me, however…"

"Aaron," Reid warned. "Please. Jack is here." Brown eyes fell upon the crown of the little boy's sandy blond head. "He deserves a present for all he's been through."

Hotch nodded and let his free hand land on Jack's shoulder. "What do you suggest? A new bike?"

Reid chuckled, "For all of what he's been putting up with, I think ten bikes driven by robots wouldn't cover it. I was thinking something along the lines of a trip. You know the one with the mice, the ducks, and the princesses."

"Spencer, you mean Dis…"

"Shh!" Reid covered up both of Jacks ears. "I don't want him to freak out and start jumping all over me."

"Right," Hotch chuckled, and he brushed Reid's stray lock from the top of his head. "Sorry."

Reid grumbled at the word but let it slide this one time. "So he's gone."

"Gone," Hotch reassured. "And, from what I hear, unable to walk."

"Oh," Reid chewed on his lip. "So… Are you sure he's going to be put away? That this time he'll really be gone-gone?"

"Yes. Judge Waller is not about to let him out on bond a second time, and this second attempt all but proves his guilt in the first incident. For the first time in his life he'll have the book thrown at him like he deserves."

Reid took in the words, nodding as his eyes pricked with tears. The concept that it was actually over was so hard to come to terms with. He couldn't help but reiterate, "So… He's really gone? It's over…"

"Spencer." It was Hotch's turn to interrupt his lover. Reid just shifted uncomfortably in the bed but managed a weak smile.

"So what now?" Hotch's fingers swept under his lover's eyes clearing them of tears.

"Well, you continue your recovery, and once you're given a clean bill of health, we'll take Jack to D- to see the mice, the ducks, and the princesses," Hotch grinned when Reid rolled his eyes slightly. "After that, we'll get you back to work."

"That sounds good," Reid made a long suffering sigh. "I miss work."

"I know." Hotch dropped his hand and let it sit on Reid's, again, this time squeezing it slightly. "You do know what that means."

"Psychological evaluations. I'm well aware," Reid squeezed back. "Maybe your psychologist friend won't detest the sight of me. Despite it all, I really think he's capable."

"I'm sure if you apologize to him and maybe walk his dog for a month," Hotch laughed, "I'm sure he'll forgive you."

Reid frowned, "Dog?"

Hotch leaned over Reid and kissed him on his wrinkling forehead. "Yes. A Saint Bernard named Tiny. You should get some rest. Good night Spencer."

"Are you serious about the dog?" Reid's frown grew deeper. Hotch skillfully avoided the question which wasn't helping ease his concern about potentially walking an erratic dog for a month.

Hotch scooped Jack into his arms and walked across the hospital room toward the door. He turned back and smiled at his lover who was softly smiling back at him. They both drank in the sight of each other, not willing to let go.

"You still didn't answer me about the dog…"

Hotch flicked the lights off and let out an irritated sigh, "Good night, Spencer."

Reid smiled, "Aaron, it's against his profile to have a Saint Bernard. He requires more control and show-that breed is too messy with the drool… You're teasing me." His eyebrow ticked, "Besides, I didn't even address his mother-issues. There's no way I'd have to walk a Saint Bernard."

Hotch's eyes twinkled, "You're right. He actually has a Great Dane named Tiny. Now go to sleep. I love you."

"I'm sorry about all of this…"

Aaron looked at the sleeping boy in his arms then looked back to Spencer, "Besides talking about disproportionately clothed animals, we should have a long talk about what neighborhood we should move to. It's high time we build a proper home. What do you think?"

"I think I love you more than coffee, and I love coffee an awful lot."

"Good night Spencer. I'll tell the others to visit in the morning."

The End.

A/N: We plan on continuing this cowrite as a series called Paths of Light and welcome you to read more. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, we hope you enjoyed this at least half as much as we enjoyed writing it! And thank you to the lovely CMAli for beta'ing this! You're amazing!


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